


Finnesang

by Otterskin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: All information in other Thor films still canon, Alternate Universe - Future, Brothers, Canon Divergence - Thor (2011), Caring for a Parent, Dementia, Family Drama, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Identity Issues, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Memory Loss, Odin's Parenting, POV Loki (Marvel), POV Odin (Marvel), POV Thor (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otterskin/pseuds/Otterskin
Summary: Odin is missing a raven. Without Muninn, Odin isn’t quite who he used to be. The only thing more dangerous than a man with secrets is one who can no longer keep them.After a near-perfect Coronation years ago, Thor's become exactly the kind of king he believes his father would be proud of - if his father were still the man Thor thought he was (if he ever was).Loki knows his place - servant of Asgard, advisor to his brother, and caregiver to his ailing father. Important roles, defining ones - and yet he feels forgotten. Sometimes literally.Being forgotten is fatal when all that you are is someone else’s lie.
Relationships: Bor & Odin (Marvel), Huginn-and-Muninn & Odin (Marvel), Loki & Odin & Thor (Marvel), Loki & Odin (Marvel), Loki & Thor (Marvel), Odin & Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 229
Kudos: 191





	1. Prologue - Two Birds, One Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to JaggedCliffs for beta-ing this work, as well as being an inspiration in general. She really improved so much of it, I can't thank her enough.

**PART ONE:**

**UNMADE**

**ᚲ ᛟ ᚹ**

* * *

**The RAVENS**

* * *

_Once we were ravens, and that only._

_To be ravens is a good thing. Ravens can fly. The Sky belonged to us when we danced in it. At night we'd steal the stars away when our black bodies blotted them out. We did not belong to the Earth or the Sea, though we took the bounties of both. Some would call us thieves for that, but we were ravens only, and accountable to no-one._

_And yet we were not content. We wished to have more._

_We wished to be more._

_When we heard it first, we could put no name to it. It was a sound, many of them, wound together in a tangle - and yet it could be followed._

_So follow it we did._

_We soared through rain and thunder, through blazing sun and piercing wind. Always, it moved forward, as living things must. We followed. We could not bear to live again in silence._

_We beat our wings in time with its tempo and our hearts beat in time with its base. There was nothing but the song and the journey to possess it._

_We followed it through forests, through villages, through cities and out into the sky again._

_We saw a figure walking through clouds. He looked like one of the people who lived below - he was covered in scales like them, had four purple eyes like them, dressed as they did. But at once we saw that he was not one of them. None of them could walk the skies as easily as we flew in them. None of them sang as he did. He was a new thing, and we wanted to have him._

_We danced about him, and he laughed in wonder at us._

_He paused in his song to call out to us, as raucous as any lowly crow, “What are your names, then?”_

_We jeered. Play the sounds, creature._

_He took up the thing of sticks and strings from around his neck and strummed it._

_We ventured nearer, needing to feel the pulse of the tune. One of us landed on his right shoulder. One of us landed on his left. Through our toes, we could feel the rumble of his flesh, the rumble that became the sounds we would soon learn to call ‘music’._

"Hearing, I ask, from the ho-o-ly races

From Norn’s eyes, watching high and low

I will soon relate, to this tree of faces

Old tales remembered from long, long ago…”

_We did not yet know what words were, but still we jittered to encounter them. The scales that disguised the singer as one of the people of below fell away, revealing pale, pinky flesh and worm-like toes where wing feathers should be. His eyes were now only two, and they were very, very blue._

_"Have you no names, then? I’m between names myself at the moment. A fair number of them just…did not work out. Perhaps you can help me think of the next one.”_

_Before we could berate him for stopping, he continued to sing._

"I asked for companions, the Norns sent me birds

I asked them for names, but they gave me none

I suppose since I am the master of words

It falls to me to give them both some!"

_He reached out to stroke our chests with a finger. It was warm. We didn’t dislike it._

_“I may have made those lyrics for you, but the tune is not mine. I really should not be singing it. Yet lately, I cannot seem to get it out of my head…_

“My father was a fine singer himself,

Though only when he sang with my mother.

They sang this for me when I was my first self

When I still had a sister and brother.”

_The music ended. We looked at the creature. He stared hollowly out across the green skies as if he did not like the colour of them._

_“It seems that no matter where I go or what I call myself, I am burdened with memories and thoughts. Not just of what was, but what could have been. Do you know what that is like, my feathered friends?”_

_He seemed unhappy. That was no good - his song had brought us joy, and it would not do for him to have none of his own. We called his music to our minds and cawed to it best we could, harsh and throaty._

_His eyes brightened. “You are very clever, aren’t you? You’re different from the birds on Asheim. Though not so clever that you’ve yet to realize what sordid company you’re keeping now.” He strummed his instrument with a grin. “I’ve thought of names for you. You shall be Huginn and Muninn - Thought and Memory. But names are not free, my corvid companions. Upon your wings I will settle a burden, so that I might journey lighter…”_

_He touched a wing-toe to his head. It began to glow, bright and silver. When he withdrew the toe, it came away with a long strand of silver. It broke free from his head, and at once began to wiggle like a worm. We could not help but swallow eagerly in anticipation. He offered the worm to the first of us on his right shoulder. Without hesitation, it was devoured. He put his finger to his head once more, and this time drew out a golden worm. This he offered to the second of us, on his left shoulder. Once again, it was devoured._

_He continued in this manner until we were full to bursting. The silver and gold writhed in our guts, hot and cold, filling us with emptiness and sorrow, with warmth and joy, all at once. It was only then that we realized we were no longer only ravens._

_Our minds were pulled away from our bodies, away from the green skies of our home. We were taken into another body, under a different sky, in a distant time._

_There, we were a boy. There, there was a garden…_

_It was a beautiful place._

_A tall, red-bearded man held hands with a woman. Together they worked the land, pulling and pushing earth and water. Beside them were two children, a boy and girl. The girl coaxed plants from the soil, and the boy called animals to live in them._

_The eyes we ravens watched from were distant, hovering far above the scene._

_The man looked up at us. He opened his mouth, perhaps to call us down, to join them -_

_But all that came out was a terrible, wailing scream..._

**ᚼ**

The ravens awoke, groggy with sleep. The baby’s wails echoed down the dark hallway, piercing even the great golden doors meant to shut away the rest of the world.

Thought looked at Memory. Memory looked back at Thought.

_“You go,”_ croaked Thought.

_“Muninn went last time,”_ complained Memory.

The wailing grew louder. It was a noise somewhere between a wolf having their teeth pulled and a crash collision between two speeding metal boats, complete with the two pilots arguing over whose fault it was afterwards. It was the very opposite of music.

_“Huginn turn,”_ insisted Memory.

Huginn huffed, puffing up his feathers and shaking the sleep off of them. He flapped down off his golden perch and onto the bed. There was only one occupant, still slumbering on one side. On the other, the furs were flicked open. Huginn thought to look at the remaining shoes. The slippers were still there, but Frigga's boots were gone. Muninn remembered that she often went to the Garden at night - the only time she really could. She would not be back until sunrise.

Huginn hopped over to the remaining lump of furs. He pulled back the edges of them, revealing Odin’s face. He looked so very different from the creature who had walked the skies of the ravens’ homeworld. The red colour had long leached out of his hair, and his soft face had sprouted a grey beard and moustache to match it. At least his eyes had stayed the same - until a few nights ago when even one of them was taken from him.

Muninn recalled that he’d told them it was a trade of sorts. An eye for a baby. Huginn thought that was a rubbish trade. Odin's right eye had never screamed at them, which made it better by far.

Not wanting to waste any more potential sleep time, Huginn pecked near the newly-empty eye socket. At once the lump of furs erupted with a curse, sending Huginn flying into the air.

Odin attempted to insult his birds again but was drowned out by the baby screaming its boat-crash-wolf-yelp cry. So instead he sighed, beckoning to his birds to follow him as he lumbered out into the hallway.

Muninn tried to hide his beak under his wing and pretend he hadn’t seen the gesture. Huginn circled back and harassed him mercilessly.

_“Need both,”_ Huginn tutted. _“Always two ravens.”_

Muninn relented, and soon both birds perched on Odin’s shoulders: Huginn on his right, Muninn on his left. As light as they were, Odin still moved slowly. He’d had very little sleep since returning from the final battle. The war itself hadn’t been particularly relaxing either.

Huginn felt the thought bloom in his mind as it occurred to Odin. _How easy it seemed when I first took the child. Just seeing a friendly face after being abandoned had been enough to quell its cries._

They entered the nursery. Immediately the cries doubled in volume.

"Shhh-shhh-shh-sh.” Odin attempted, but the child only stopped its tears to hiccough loudly and suck in more breath, ammunition for further cacophony.

Hastily, Odin seized at a bottle waiting in a basket of ice and tried to stopper the babe with the bottle’s teat. Its mouth clamped shut and refused the milk, turning this way and that to escape.

“Still?” Odin asked it wearily.

_I thought I saved you. But if you do not eat, all I have done is prolonged your death._

The thought tasted of hopelessness. It was not a favourite flavour of Huginn’s.

The babe reached out, seizing at Odin’s hand even as it ignored the bottle it held. Odin scooped the child into his arms, jostling the ravens as he patted its back. Nothing seemed wrong with it; its changing cloth was clean, its guts clear of gas. It was not even alone anymore - and yet it still would not stop crying.

_“Go outside?”_ suggested Huginn.

_“Remind baby of home,”_ agreed Muninn.

Odin nodded, eye still droopy with sleep.

They stepped onto the balcony. The night was clear and brimming with all the lights of Yggdrasil. As hoped, a chill was in the air.

And yet the baby still cried, digging into Odin’s beard as if trying to crawl away from the cold.

The old god sighed. “What am I to do?” he asked his ravens.

_“Always, Odin ask only himself for counsel,”_ chided Muninn.

“I tried to turn to Frigga,” Odin protested half-heartedly.

Muginn cocked his head in judgement. The raven did not need to remind Odin of what he had done to Frigga. A flicker passed through both their minds: the memories of her face when he’d returned, bearing a strange infant to replace the one she so recently lost. She’d been waiting to share their grief - and Odin had instead asked her to disguise it, much like the false child he’d pressed to her breast.

_“Odin did not think that one through,”_ observed Huginn.

“No. He did not,” agreed Odin, rubbing at the gauze over his socket again. He sighed.

Even Frigga’s reaction had been a friendlier welcome than he’d gotten from his own son.

_I don’t know why I expected a warm welcome on my return - how could he even recognize me? He was but a babe when I left. But to see the boy instead glare at me with such suspicion, to insist on standing between his own mother and father..._

_But was the boy wrong to try and protect Frigga from me?_

_The first thing I did on my return was to break her heart._

“I am a wicked man,” Odin sighed.

**_"You are required to be a good king above being a good man. The two are often mutually exclusive concepts.”_ **

Odin turned his head slightly to frown at Huginn. “That voice…”

The babe kicked him hard in the chest, trying again to squirm free of Odin’s grip.

Without thinking about it, he started to hum, bumping the child up and down as he did so.

Miraculously, the tiny creature quietened. Unscrunching its face, it peered up at him and his ravens. It seemed mesmerized by the tune.

Odin would have been glad of it, had he not recognized just what he was humming.

He stopped.

The babe immediately crumpled up again and began to fuss. Huginn, too, dipped his head in disappointment.

Despite his audience’s clear call for an encore, Odin did not pick up the tune again. Instead, he summoned the milk into his hand and tried again to feed the child. “Come on, boy,” he muttered, trying to turn its face back out from his chest. “I know it’s not as good as giant’s milk but we haven’t had any volunteers.”

His attempts jostled the ravens about on his shoulders, causing them to flap and squawk. Huginn wondered how comical they would appear to anyone walking in on the scene. Odin, King of Asgard, Conqueror, feared throughout the realms, encumbered by clingy ravens and an obstinate baby.

“Eat - the damn - milk,” Odin muttered, accompanying each word with the jab of the bottle.

_“Baby liked that song,”_ Muninn recalled.

_“Sing next time,”_ urged Huginn, a spark of independence clashing against Odin’s clear reticence.

“I don’t know that I can," the man muttered. “I haven’t sung in years,”

_“Odin sang for many years before,”_ Muninn said slowly. _“Muninn would know if Odin forgot how.”_

_“See? So sing now!”_ demanded Huginn.

The other raven looked away from his brother. _“Muninn doesn’t like that song. It hurts.”_

Huginn looked over at Muninn, scandalized. _“We ravens like the song!"_

But Muninn just fluffed his feathers again and wouldn’t meet Huginn’s beady eye.

The babe knocked the glass bottle from Odin’s hands. It hit the stone floor of the balcony and broke open.

Odin nearly cursed again, catching the ugly word with one syllable already hanging out of his mouth. Spending years around soldiers instead of the Court and his family had roughened his vocabulary. That was what he used his voice for, crass words and orders to make war. Not song. That belonged to a version of himself he’d long put behind him.

He would go and get a nursemaid and damn the consequences, he would go and fetch Eir and have her diagnose the child, he would go -

The baby detonated with a keening scream, piercing his eardrums and threatening to further shatter the glass bottle with its ferocity.

He would go mad if he didn’t do something right now.

Well, go madder. He must have been mad already to have taken this child in the first place.

It shouldn’t have come as easily as it did. For one thing, his voice had deepened significantly since he last said these words, and it strained at first, trying to hit the notes that used to be within easy reach. But even before he dropped to the next octave down, his seidr was stirred, flowing outwards with the euphony. In many ways, this had been how he’d first learned magic - how he first learned to speak with the air and sky, and all the intricate veins that threaded the universe together. A thousand strings to be plucked and molded into melody.

_“Hearing, I ask, from the ho-o-ly races_

_From Norn’s eyes, watching high and low_

_I will soon relate, to this tree of faces_

_Old tales remembered from long, long ago._

_Of old was the age when Ymir yet lived_

_No sea nor waves, nor sand was yet there_

_Earth was not yet, nor heavens forgive'd_

_All that was was the gap to nowhere.”_

Muninn shifted uneasily. Memories of millennia were tangled inextricably in every bar. But to the babe, it was merely noise, clean and new and without connotation. Spellbound, it fell still in Odin’s arms.

_“Lead me home, my mothers of yester_

_Lead me to my heart and its way_

_Free me from a body that festers_

_Free me from the urge to yet stay._

_Take me from this o-ode to slaughter_

_Take me from Hel, though I may belong_

_Lead me to my sons and my daughters_

_Lead me home to the heart of my song._

_Shield-time, sword-time, we enter the gold halls_

_Wind-time, Wolf-time, ere the world falls.”_

Muninn thought of Bor, Father of Odin. He once said this was a sad song.

_But did it have to be so for everyone who heard it?_ Odin wondered. _Could it not be something else for this babe?_

It could mean safety, comfort. It could mean that this child had a home…at least for a little while.

_“Little while?”_ Muninn croaked. _“How cruel.”_

The All-Father ignored him and continued to sing.

_“I remember yet the giants of yore_

_Who gave me bread in days gone by_

_Nine worlds I knew, Nine worlds at war_

_Nine voices became one battle cry…”_

_There were many ways this story could go. If it weren’t for me, this babe’s tale would have ended shortly after it had begun. What could be less cruel than the gift of possibilities?_

_“Muninn cannot remember the future, only past,”_ Muninn scolded. _“Odin cannot know if saving baby means good or bad. It just is.”_

_“Even bad better than nothingness,”_ Huginn dissented. _“This good deed.”_

_“Deeds have reasons why done,”_ Muninn muttered. _“Were reasons good?”_

Huginn turned his back on his brother, disgusted with his treachery. _“Odin not parley with ‘good’ or ‘bad’. Odin just is. Muninn play silly games.”_

_“Only one rose from the sea of blood_

_Broken were oaths, words not what they seemed_

_Before the breath of liars, we scud_

_Shaped, like clouds, by forces unseen..."_

_“Odin make promise by taking baby,”_ insisted Muninn.

_“Odin makes no promises,”_ Huginn hissed.

_“I know the horn of Heimdall, well-hidden_

_As lost as the things it’s meant to return_

_What would I ask, if it were mine to be bidden?_

_Would I make new or ask to unburn?_

_Alone I waited when the Old One sought me_

_The Terror of Gods gazed in mine eyes:_

_‘What dost thou want? What comest thou to see?’_

_Dost thou look for something living or died?_

_‘Before thou ask, be aware there is cost -_

_An eye for an eye, a thought for a thought_

_If I am to return that which you lost_

_Be aware that the price is the same as the bought._

_'Would you know yet more?_

_Knowing that wisdom is weight?_

_Would you know yet more?_

_Knowing no knowledge will sate?_

_Would you know yet more?_

_If you knew that knowing meant a forever war?’”_

The babe was staring at Odin with rapt attention as if there was nothing in the universe more awe-inspiring than an old man mumbling his way through a doom-stricken ditty.

Odin tended to be the most powerful person in any room - or planet - or galaxy, really - that he happened to walk into, and so he was used to rapt attention. But there is nothing quite like being the end-all, be-all centre of existence in the eyes of an infant. For one thing, people tended to get nervous when the most powerful person in the galaxy walked into the room. This babe just wondered. It would have marvelled at him just the same if he were a moderately-successful goatherd.

This child knew so little of the world. So little about Odin. Hardly any different from most grown men, in that respect. How precious that ignorance was. How unfair that after all the world had done to this child in his short life that that innocence should be placed in Odin’s hands.

Moved to pity, Huginn bent down to preen at the babe’s few dark hairs. Muninn took off from the other shoulder, heading back inside.

_“Lead me home, my brothers of yester_

_Lead me to my heart and its way_

_Free me from a body that festers_

_Free me from the urge to yet stay…_

_Take me from this o-ode to slaughter_

_Take me from Hel, though I may belong_

_Lead me to my sons and my daughters_

_Lead me home to the heart of my song._

_Shield-time, sword-time, we enter the gold halls_

_Wind-time, Wolf-time, ere the world falls.”_

The song was nearly complete now, and Odin was surprised to find himself slowing down, as if unwilling to let the moment go. Each time he returned to the chorus, there seemed to be some strange reciprocity from the babe. Though it could not sing, its fledgeling magic nonetheless reverberated with the melody, like the threads of a spider’s web plucked by the breeze.

_"The serpent is bright, but now I must sink_

_My father of yester is leading me home_

_The sky becomes light, no more must I think_

_of old tales remembered from long, long ago._

_It didn’t seem till now..._

_...so long, long ago."_

It was done.

Muninn returned, bearing with him a fresh bottle of milk. He dropped it into Odin’s waiting hand. The babe seemed loose, almost liquid in Odin’s grasp, though its eyes were still bright and alert. It didn’t fight the bottle this time - but neither did it suck at the teat. Odin sighed.

“Did I ever know what was in giant’s milk, Muninn?”

The raven considered, then shook his head.

“Can you think of anything that would convince the child to drink, Huginn?”

The second raven considered, then shook his head.

“Fat lot of good you both turned out to be, eh?” Odin sighed, but there was a smile in it.

The king tried to return the babe to its crib, but its fists had knotted painfully in place in his beard. It was no use; he’d just have to take it to bed and hope it would behave until morning.

When he settled back into his half of the mattress, another pang of guilt crossed his chest.

_I should be with her._

Instead, he pulled the blanket back up over himself and carefully tried to lie down without disturbing the infant.

“Give her time,” he said, though the babe was already deep in sleep. “She’s a warm heart and love to spare. She just needs time to say goodbye.”

The babe gurgled. Then, unmistakably, it hummed. Clear as the skies when Thor was in good spirits, it was the song Odin had imprinted on him, already echoing back. He listened to it make its way through the tune. At points it would stop, as if waiting for something; it took Odin a little while to realize that, even in the depths of sleep, it was waiting for a response. He’d hum back to it, sometimes along with it, creating a strange little harmony.

“We’ll make a proper Asgardian out of you yet,” he chuckled, and for a moment he could imagine that Frigga had merely gone to freshen up, that the babe was everything Odin was pretending it was, that his family had been spared their latest tragedy and all was, for that moment, well. He could forget all the inconvenient parts of reality.

The world could just be him and his borrowed boy.

He could stop the crying.

He could make things right.

**_“Could. What a damning word that is.”_ **

Odin cracked open his eye and saw him in the corner of the room. Wrapped in shadows, and just as immaterial. His beard was a deeper red than it ever had been in life, and the curve of the downward-pointing horns of his helmet outlined his harsh face.

**_“Could is a word for regrets. Regrets are the stories we wished we lived. You were always too fond of stories. Stories are not real.”_ **

Odin shut his eye. “Neither are you, Father.” He didn’t need to open it again to know that Bor would no longer be there. It was just a passing thought.

But the spell had been broken.

The bed was cold. His wife was still gone to the Garden to mourn over her true son while he coddled a painted imposter in what should have been her sanctuary. And even then, the babe was still sickly, still hungry, and he had nothing to fill him. He had made nothing right, only forgotten that everything was still wrong.

“Huginn - Muninn,” Odin called. “Go to Jötunheim and observe the children there. Learn what they require to suckle and grow, and return soon.”

The ravens bobbed their heads in acceptance of their task. They took flight.

The skies of Asgard roiled with starlight, but the clever birds knew which precise point of light was Jötunheim’s sole sun. Together they flew, side by side, into the ether. Light streaked, sound ceased, space bent around them, and they tore through -

_We tore through…_

_We did, didn’t we? We ravens went to Jötunheim. We did - we saw and learned and we returned…The child lived, thanks to us…So why, why did the light and the sound continue, becoming darker, malevolent, angry? Why did it shout and accuse and become oh so terribly sad even as raging fire swept about us, between us, blackening the blackest of feathers and consuming, consuming, it was in Muninn’s mouth, it was in his stomach, it was devouring him from the inside out and he was in pain, such terrible pain and I, I the raven needed to go to my brother, needed to save him, but the moment we became I it was already too late._

_Muninn was gone. A hole where a raven should be. I screamed for him, but a raven’s voice is not music, and it could not call him back._

_I flew on._

_My thoughts were dark._

_Such angry, grieving thoughts._

_My blood was dead. Taken from me. Stolen. By an enemy beyond my reach._

_But not all my enemies were so._

_Where was I going?_

_Somewhere cold, somewhere far away - and why?_

_To see the giants, the red eyes in the blizzard._

_To Jötunheim, to the giants, to war -_

_As Asgard had done time and time again._

_Yes, to war!_

_To war!_

**ᚼ**

Huginn awoke with a start. Red light was streaming through the window behind him, courtesy of the sunset. He looked across from his golden perch to the empty one on the other side of the bed. As it had been for decades, it was empty.

So was the bed.

Huginn blinked at it. The sheets had been flung from the bed with force.

The door remained shut, likely still locked. But, as the breeze from the open window reminded the raven, that was not the only way out of this place.

With a flurry of greying feathers, Huginn took flight. He passed out the back of the golden room and felt the wispy touch of shattered spells try to catch at his feathers, to no avail.

The rook circled Asgard, wings straining, searching, searching.

He heard him before he saw him - the whistling of wind around the corners of the city and the low, dull roar of the stars as invisible strings drew from their raging hearts. Footfalls echoed mightily off the golden buildings, and at once Huginn knew they could not be dissuaded from their path.

There was nothing a raven, even one who was not only that, could do.

There was little anyone could do, really, but there were some who would try anyway. Inconveniently, today had to be the day they weren’t on Asgard.

Huginn braced his aching pinions, fixing his beady eyes on a star in the sky the way other ravens fixed on the glimmer of a mussel in the water.

He flew into the sky, following the faintest sounds of a half-remembered melody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My grandmother passed away earlier this year from dementia-related causes. She'd been suffering with it for years, a particularly cruel fate for someone who valued her intelligence and loquaciousness. My grandfather passed away last year, from something different, but he was also beginning to show signs of the disease. 
> 
> I had the seed of this idea many years ago, as can be seen in the short I wrote in 2012, 'Thought, Memory, Conscience'. As my grandmother began her final descent, I threw myself into writing this. Other things were happening in my life and it was comforting to write and helped me process some things.
> 
> I should say that Odin in this story does not actually have the disease known as Alzheimer's - this is a fantasy world, and they are aliens. It will not operate exactly the same, although I did use my own experiences and those of others, including read testimonials and friends of mine, to base the symptoms upon. It will also not be the only element in this story, for those worried about it dominating everything to a depressing degree. It affects the plot, but soon sets many other snowballs running. Dementia can be cruel, but in my case, at least, it lead to some revelations and understandings I might not have otherwise had with my grandparents, and for my mother and her brother and their relationship with their parents. It will not be all sad. (I hope). 
> 
> I would love to hear from anyone with similar experiences, if they would care to share. Comments in general are greatly appreciated, as it's the only way I know anyone is reading, ha ha. 
> 
> And of course, though there's a personal nature to this work, I always welcome criticism of any kind if you're interested in making me a better writer. Thanks for reading.


	2. My Father's Keeper

**LOKI**

* * *

_Perhaps peace is overrated._

Loki shifted minutely in his seat. He carefully obscured his boredom by narrowing his eyes and caressing the bottom of his lip with a finger - he was the picture of attention, even as his thoughts strayed. From the corner of his eye he observed Thor, curious how he was handling this overlong negotiation.

For once, the King was doing a half-decent job of acting like one. He inclined his head every so often, and on occasion even managed to throw in a beard stroke reminiscent of their father. It was enough to fool those who didn’t know him. But Loki noticed how these movements were just a bit too forceful, too often - excusable ways for Thor to move, betraying a brewing frustration.

Across the table from the Asgardian delegation sat an assortment of the Queega. Their heads almost appeared upside down, with the vertical slash of their mouths in the centre of their forehead and their pupilless eyes containing little soul. They were taller than the burliest of Asgardian warriors, green and scaly, skin hanging in loose rolls at the joints and overly long fingers.

All in all, their features seemed designed to disgust him. They were as un-Asgardian as it was possible to get while still standing on two feet. Their communication did come out of their mouths, but not in words - bolts of electricity were emitted, halo-like, and the resulting static was nothing that even the All-Speak could translate. Instead, the leader of the Queega spoke to a divergent member of its species. Smaller than most children, it had been… _blessed_ …with several additional mouths, each seemingly engineered for a different kind of spoken language, although they still crackled with a little electricity. One had teeth and a rudimentary tongue, and it was through this that he spoke with language so florid it threatened to set off Loki’s hay fever.

“ZZZZzzzzxxx, My most majestic, meritorious and merciful lords, we do deeply appreciate you agreeing to meet with our emissaries and representatives of Queeg- ”

 _That's at least the twentieth time he's thanked us. For all his compliments, he must think us deaf or stupid._ Outwardly, Loki nodded graciously.

“ - we understand that a potential impending conflict with the Shi’ar Empire is a threat in this area of space, zzz, but to become a temporary outpost for Asgard…well, what assurances do we have that it will be _temporary,_ zzxz?”

Thor leaned forward. “Are the Asgardians not welcome on Queeg? Our presence will keep you safe - every day the Shi’ar Empire draws nearer to your sector, and thereby to our territory as well. If you do nothing, they will snuff you out and use your land to attack Asgard - ”

“It’s to our mutual benefit that we combine our forces and show a strong front against them,” Loki added, smoothing over Thor’s words. “You are in the line of fire, and we realize that if you were to be taken our space would be next. We think it’s best not to wait for the enemy to come to us, but to instead make common friends and help our neighbours, so they may, in turn, help us. This will be a relationship of equals.”

Thor frowned at Loki and hissed privately “That’s what I said, only longer.”

The younger brother didn’t blink, keeping eye contact with the translator, whose empty gaze moved back and forth from Thor to Loki before settling on the dark-haired one. “We will need assurances that your tents will not grow roots and sprout into Asgardian palaces.”

Loki’s appeasing smile came together so quickly his teeth clicked. “Assurances best made on paper, with signatures, I presume. I’ll draw up the words myself and send them to be reviewed by the Queega for amendments as you see fit.”

A child’s voice, albeit one beginning to fracture, entered the conversation. “Er…may I say something, Father?”

Loki had almost forgotten Magni was here. While he sat at the king’s left, the boy was on Thor’s right side, hidden behind his father's well-renowned bulk.

Before Thor could reply to his son, General Tyr declared “A First Prince needn’t mumble for permission, boy. Speak up and speak clearly - your words matter.” The last three words were said in a way that was both an encouragement and a warning.

Magni swallowed. “I..er…just wanted to add that possibly…we could…” his voice stuttered to a stop.

Thor smiled warmly and clapped his son’s shoulder. “Yes?”

“Perhaps you’d be more at ease if we could meet somewhere besides this moon,” Magni blurted out. “You could see we’re not at all like the stories you’ve heard - perhaps some representatives could go on a hunt with us, or else visit the Gardens - “

Loki interrupted as quickly as possible while still appearing supportive. “A hunt may be possible. I hear Grenthar IV has some very crafty beasts known to imitate voices to confuse their hunters.”

Magni nodded eagerly, causing his mop of brown hair to flop about. Loki twitched a smile at his nephew, even as he wished he could curse under his breath. _Inviting them into the very heart of our home - my mother’s garden, no less - what in the name of the Norns was he thinking?_ Loki clasped his hands together, finger itching his palm at the thought of the alien hordes squelching past the rose bushes, or the crackle of the Queega’s incessant halos of energy interrupting the bird song as they lumbered into flower beds. Apparently he would need to remind Magni that Asgard was closed to outsiders.

The translator gurgled thoughtfully, eyes still narrowed slightly. “A hunt may be welcome. The Queega are always eager for new ingredients for their sausages. They are an important cultural practice and product, you know.”

“Really? How so?” Magni asked before Loki and Thor could signal him to avoid the question. As the translator’s face split into three separate smiles, the brothers did their best to hold in their groans.

“Zzzzz, You weren’t here when I last explained it, were you? It would be my honour to elucidate the subject! The recipes are considered a form of poetry, and often recited as a form of courting amongst our people. It is said a particularly creative recipe will yield a bushel of sausage and two more of children, providing the recipe was enunciated with the proper amount of electricity -“

Suddenly, a black missile came crashing in through the ceiling, raining glass down on them all.

Guards shouted - the Queega hissed, shooting purple sparks - Thor reached out a hand and summoned Mjölnir - the hammer smashed through the closed doors - Tyr reared backwards, eyes wide and bright - Loki summoned a knife to hand -

In the centre of the table, the missile fluttered his graying wings, flipped himself over, and cawed.

The room froze.

“Huginn?” Thor and Loki said as one.

“O~o~odin,” croaked the raven, confirming their fears.

‘What’s wrong with grandfather?” Magni said in alarm.

Thor turned to his brother and muttered, “I thought the protective spells on his rooms had been strengthened!”

“He’s still the most powerful sorcerer in Asgard. There’s only so much that can be done,” Loki hissed back.

Thor turned back to the astonished room of aliens and Asgardians. “Ah…this bird is a messenger from my father, the previous All-Father. Apologies for the interruption - please excuse my brother and I while we deal with this matter.”

Huginn took off, leading the king and Loki out of the Negotiations Room. Before they left, Loki made sure to brush past Magni and mutter “All will be well,” in his ear.

Once they’d exited the building stood in the wilderness of Queega’s moon, the brothers began to interrogate the raven.

“What’s gone wrong? Is he safe?” Loki asked quickly.

“Where is he now?” Thor followed. “What’s he doing?”

Huginn ignored them. He flitted to a strange sort of tree and started to play with the lichen growing there.

“Huginn!” both brothers called. It was no use; the bird’s mind was wandering again. They were lucky that he’d stayed focused long enough to reach this moon at all.

While Thor continued to berate the bird, Loki took a moment to smooth back his hair and slow his breathing. He needed to get this under control. And that meant getting himself under control first. He forced his body to relax. _Everything is fine. Everything must be fine._

“One of us has to go back,” Thor declared. “There’s no telling what’s gone wrong. If it’s anything like last week, then the cooks are getting an earful for not preparing enough food for my Coronation feast - ”

“It’ll be another week of overly-salted stew and bland pudding if so,” Loki sighed.

“Or maybe it’s like the week before that, and he’s convinced that all the lamps in Asgard are spy devices for the Light-Elves -“

“It’ll be another week of eating overly-salted stew and bland pudding in the dark if so,” Loki sighed.

“Or, Norns forbid, it’s like the week before that, and he’s gone into the centre of the city and is shouting _poetry_ at everyone again - he did it for _hours_ last time -

“It’ll be another week of eating overly-salted stew and bland pudding in the dark with bad entertainment if so,” Loki sighed.

Thor glared at his brother. “I get the feeling you aren’t taking this entirely seriously _,_ Loki.”

Loki shrugged. “Like you said. Every week it’s something - and every week, I take care of it.”

Thor looked away, chagrined. “I suppose it is always you who deals with it. I should go one of these times -“

“Not this time. You have stay here and listen to ancient ballads of sausage making,” Loki smirked. “Perhaps it will come in handy if Father has insulted the kitchens again. We may be forced to feed ourselves.”

Thor rubbed his nose and groaned, but a slight smile was on his face. “We’d likely starve in a week…” He looked up again at Loki, face falling. “You’re sure? It’s hardly fair, you always being the one to…well, it’s not easy.”

“Neither is negotiating with a race of lizard-people without me by your side,” Loki breezed. “I know how to handle him - and any problems he may have caused. If you go, you’ll just shout at each other - and it’s getting late in Asgard, people won’t appreciate the disruption.”

“I suppose you’re right…” Thor said.

“As always, but continue,” Loki smiled.

Thor clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Go, then - but be back soon. If I get too bored I’ll be forced to declare war.” Before Loki could quip further, Thor placed his hand on his neck. “I truly am sorry that it’s always you who goes. Thank you, Loki.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the air growing heavy with the unsaid.

Loki broke it first. “You’ve probably missed the list of ingredients.” His smile flicked back on. “Now the rest of the recipe will be hopelessly confusing. Best get back inside.”

Thor groaned again and released his brother. He seemed in better spirits as he re-entered the building.

The moment the door clicked closed, Loki dropped the smile and good humour. He cast his eyes up at Huginn. The bird was agitated, preening with great force. He plucked out a wing feather and tossed it to the ground, then reached for another.

“Stop that,” Loki hissed. “Come here - we’re going back to Asgard.”

The bird ignored him. Which was nothing new since Odin’s sickness had first emerged.

Loki made the trek back to the Bifröst site alone. He would have run it if he could, but the path wound through gaseous swamps. Whatever situation awaited him in Asgard, he doubted that being soaked with swamp juice would make dealing with it more enjoyable. He knew they only wanted this moon and Queeg as outposts, not holiday spots, but Loki fervently wished they didn’t have to come here ever again. Bad enough that he had to leave Asgard at all - spending so much time in a place that was its antithesis was salt in the wound.

At last he came to a constructed stone burned with the Bifröst stamp. When he stepped upon it, Loki fancied he could feel the ridges, even through his thick-soled boots.

He exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Heimdall!” he called.

The wail of the rainbow bridge surged towards him, bellowing like a whale with a thousand twittering birds in its stomach. In the next instant, he was striding out of the tunnel, pressing his hair back into place. To his surprise, Huginn flew out behind him. Evidently the bird still had enough sense to take a free ride back home.

“How was The Moon of Queeg?” Heimdall asked.

“If you sniff hard enough, Gatekeeper, you will be able to know for yourself. I'll have to shower three times before the palace dogs will be able to recognize me,” Loki complained.

“I would not advise delaying so long for that,” Heimdall intoned. “Your father is already halfway down the bridge towards us.”

“What?” Loki started. He looked down the long glass bridge connecting the Bifröst to the city.

He heard him before he saw him. The wind was beginning to moan, restless and hungry, and blowing from Asgard instead of in from the sea - entirely unnatural.

Not a good sign of Odin’s mood.

“God-rot,” Loki sighed, hand trailing down his face before rubbing his goateed chin. “I trust you would not have let him through, Heimdall, had he managed to get here before me?”

“I am sworn to obey the King, including past ones,” Heimdall said. “But I would delay him all I could, and would bring one of you here if need be. Even if it was…an emergency interruption.”

Loki imagined the Bifröst light suddenly breaking through the Negotiation Room, spiriting him away in an instant. At first, the break in the monotony would have been welcome, but then…

Then he would see his father striding down the Rainbow Bridge, his chest-armour bright and shining, eye full of battle fire, a breeze in his cape and his horned-and-winged helm sparkling with the night sky of Asgard.

It was a sight that had made Frost Giants quake, once upon a time. Now, however, Loki rather suspected that Frost Giant would be quaking from laughter.

The lack of pants did rather spoil the effect.

Loki felt no mirth of his own. Instead, he moved towards the striding figure cautiously, halting him just outside the Bifröst chamber.

“Hail, All-Father,” he called out. He waited to see how Odin would react. Some days he was recognized, but more and more often…

“Where are the rest of the men?” barked Odin. “They should be lined up from here to the Keep. We press into the heart of Jötunheim today!”

Loki staggered backwards, struck by a bellowing wind. Odin’s eye was a terrible, burning-bright blue, the literal eye of the storm.

Loki shouted above the gale, slipping into character with practised ease. “General Tyr has already taken the troops to Jötunheim, My King!” The wind lessened. Loki took advantage and spoke quickly. “The war was won this morning. I was sent to inform you of the Asgardian victory.”

Odin blinked. “How…how dare he? I was to lead the final charge, accept Laufey’s surrender…it has been…such a long war…I…” he blinked again, and there was some imperceptible shift to his posture. A weight pressed to his shoulders. “After so much loss, the people…they should have seen me there, I cannot stand apart…I should be there. Where…where is Ven? Where is Torben? They should be the ones sent to me…not…who are you?”

Loki wondered who Ven and Torben were, that they seemed to stick in Odin’s mind more clearly than his own son. “I am…I am who could be sent, My King,” he said evenly.

“Liar!” barked Odin, and the fury was back within him once more. He rose, and this close it was easy to miss the lack of pants and instead be appropriately threatened. “I am Odin All-Father, Witch-King of the Nine Realms! You think I cannot see that you are not as you appear? It is a fine craft that you have spun about your features, to be sure - but you will remove it and reveal yourself at once!”

Loki stared at his father. _The first compliment he’s given me in decades - and all it is for is a simple appearance glamour._ He nearly laughed at the thought but managed to keep it to a single wry twitch of his lips.

“Heimdall!” roared Odin. “Use your All-Seeing eyes and tell me what hides beyond this magicked exterior!”

Heimdall looked at Loki, face unreadable as a book written in Atlantean. An old joke - books tended not to remain legible underwater. “My King, this man has cast nought but a simple surface-level glamour upon himself. It is only vanity, not duplicity.”

Heimdall did not like to lie. In similar situations they’d had before this, his truthfulness had been the cause of further chaos. It was not just the Gatekeeper's predilection either. Most in Asgard found it difficult to lie to their old All-Father. The habit to truth-tell was simply there when your old king stared you in the eye. Asgard had great condescension towards liars in general, though a lie would often be the kindest thing to give.

Which was why Loki was sent: to guide the old King around with pretty baubles, as he was known to be inclined to such debasement. He was the only one willing to lie pleasantly and smile when others could not bear to look upon the shame with a straight face.

“Yes, it is as great Heimdall says. I have come from battle and did not wish to disturb Your Majesty with my haggard appearance. Shall we go to the palace, that we might feast in celebration of Asgardian victory?”

Loki looked askance at Heimdall. Just once, it’d be nice to have a supporting character in a production where Loki was always asked to be the starring player.

Heimdall continued to stare evenly. “You are needed back at the Palace, My King. This man means no harm.”

_Close enough, I suppose._

“Thank you, Gatekeeper.” His next words were a careless slip of habit. "When Thor returns, you are welcome to turn your gaze upon us to inform him of wherever we are.”

Odin whirled around, eyes darting back and forth. “Thor? Thor is gone? My son is far too young to have left Asgard and in this time of war - who commanded such a thing? Where is he? TELL ME NOW!”

Loki had just enough time brace himself before the hurricane struck him, blowing his cape and hair into a tangle and engulfing the world in a barrage of fury. He just had to ride this out. It was only air, just moving a little faster than normal. The main problem was that it was drowning out his speech - the only tool he had.

Unexpectedly, it was Heimdall who came to the rescue. He’d walked down from his usual post atop the plinth in the chamber, bracing against the winds. Perhaps his heavy golden armour had given him an advantage. In a deep booming voice, he cried, “Thor is safe, Your Grace. He will be here shortly. Your other son, however, is awaiting you.”

The wind died so quickly Loki stumbled forward.

“The child is born?” Odin said half-excitedly, half-hesitant. “And is healthy? Strong? How is Frigga? I’ll never hear the end of missing the delivery.”

Heimdall’s orange eyes didn’t blink. “Asgard celebrated a safe birth and a healthy child.”

“It is a sign from the Norns that we put an end to bloodshed and death on the same day we are blessed with new life.” Odin was practically giddy, turning on the spot and beginning a brisk trot back towards Asgard. “Come, vain vassal - let us make haste for the nursery!”

Loki supposed he was the vain vassal, although with his exterior in such thorough disarray it seemed inept. Before he could attempt to fix his appearance, however, Huginn flew out of the Observatory, thwacking him in the back of the head with a clumsy wing as the bird chased after Odin. Just as Loki made to follow both, Heimdall called out to the old king.

“Congratulations, Odin. He is a good son, and will serve you well.”

 _That was an… unexpected message._ “Careful, Heimdall - one compliment is all it takes to destroy a lifetime of reciprocated disregard. Think about what we don’t have,” Loki smirked.

“I know it will take more than a single assurance to endanger our…lack of a relationship,” Heimdall remarked dryly. “You see too much meaning in the unspoken to allow what is actually said to carry any weight.”

Loki chose to take that as a compliment and hurried to catch up with his father.

Odin was practically bouncing. Loki could not recall ever seeing him display such unfettered emotion, at least not before the mind-wandering had begun. He knew better than to think this was merely Odin returning to a younger frame of mind - there was a rawness, an unawareness to how he was perceived and where he was. Odin had never lacked that sense of self before now. Even when re-enacting his days of battle glory, he was more like a child brandishing a wooden stick than the legendary Odin Giants-Bane and Wolf-Master. As for his sudden enthusiasm for Loki’s birth - well, if he had felt that way, it had certainly cooled into (at best) respectful interest by the time Loki was old enough to make memories of it.

“Have you seen the child? Is he hale? Does he look more like his mother or like me?” Odin rattled off the questions.

“He looks…like a baby, your Grace.” Loki hazarded. “Much like other babies. Or so I would assume - I don’t see many of them.”

“Have you none of your own, then? You really ought to consider it. My Thor brings me such joy, such pride. He’s already so advanced for his age, you know. Frigga told me that he was chasing the cats about just the other day, and nearly caught one. Do you know how hard it is to catch a cat? The boy’s a natural, a natural.”

Loki nodded along. “He’s your son - it’s to be expected that the boy would be talented.”

“Take nothing for granted, vassal - many sons are nothing like their fathers.”

Loki thought of how he and Odin must look at that moment - a befuddled old man, broad of chest and wide of nostril even as he only came to Loki’s spindly shoulders. Sometimes, when around Thor and Odin, Loki felt as if he were made all of angles and broken glass next to their compact bulk. “I suppose that’s true, Your Grace.”

“You are old enough to have children - do they much resemble you, vassal?”

"I have other responsibilities. Other callings than children.”

Odin raised a sympathetic hand and patted Loki hard on the back. Odd, that his physical affection should come to Loki more easily now that he was a little-regarded stranger in his father’s eyes.

“What duty could take precedence over family and children, man? You are no King who must put country first. And no Einherji either, with your garb.”

“I serve both the country and my family,” Loki protested. “I am…a negotiator. For terms of peace. Although I wield no sword, I’ve been told my tongue is sharp enough to mortally injure any ego that crosses me.”

“Ah, a wordsmith. That is good. You are right, a tongue is mightier than even Gungnir when used correctly. Were you there to negotiate terms with Laufey? What did we decide?”

Loki cast his mind back. “Unconditional surrender, and payment of weregild to Midgard and Asgard for their damages for the next millennia. As well as the Casket of Ancient Winters, obviously. They couldn’t be trusted with it.” Loki recalled the history well. It had been a lesson their father himself had taught, complete with a walk into the Vault to see the war prize sitting pretty on its plinth. It had been moved to one side now, to make room for the various other objects of power Thor’s reign had procured.

“Those are harsh terms,” Odin said slowly.

“Harsh terms for a harsh people,” Loki said blithely. “What would be cruel suffering to others is merely another bleak day in bleak lives for them. Let them taste the starvation they would have asked others to bear.”

“T-that is hopelessness.” Odin shook his head. “No, no - that will not do. Despair only breeds hatred, and rash action.”

“Certainly, my King. We need to give them some example to strive for, some assurance that once they have improved they will be rewarded. You are right. What do you suggest?”

“I…I do not…know…the war has been…so long…there must be something…I-I-I thought…I did have…an i-i-i-idea…”

The stuttering was beginning. It was getting on into the evening - that was to be expected. “If you are tired, perhaps I should take you to your rooms,” Loki suggested.

“N-No. My son…I want to see…my son. He is…just born…he should know what his father…looks like...” Odin sounded confused again. “He was born healthy…that is g-g-g-good…we were not certain…Frigga…the feast on Alfheim…Eir said it was uncertain…Frigga was so...” he was meandering off course now. “Frigga…yes…yes, how could I forget? Vanaheim! I must go at once -“ he made to turn around on the Bifröst, and Loki stumbled in the wake of his sudden course change.

“We were going to the palace -“ Loki tried to say.

“Nonsense, I remember now. I was off to Vanaheim, for a feast. There’s a woman there - auburn hair, and her smile, like she’s set some dreadful joke upon you and is only waiting for it to spring - her family is in the act of some rebellion-or-other, but that’s hardly a downside. You must meet her -“

“Father - All-Father, please - you are needed at the palace…” _Which is still a great many leagues away. We cannot hope to walk it all without further distraction._ Loki whistled sharply.

“I am King, and I will go where I please, vassal,” Odin dismissed, already walking back towards the Observatory.

“Of course, My Liege - but shouldn’t a king have a noble steed if he is to call on another realm?”

Sleipnir arrived in a clatter of hooves and eager snorting. No sooner had Odin glimpsed him than he was stroking his cheek and murmuring to the beast. “Hello, boy,” he muttered, and at last seemed quieted and at peace.

Loki often wished they could simply bring Sleipnir into the palace itself and allow him to trail behind their father like a dog rather than an aged war-charger. He could curl up at Odin’s fireside, occasionally kicking in his sleep (and with eight legs, that was sure to be near-constant.) There simply seemed to be something to the repetitive motion of stroking the horse that calmed Odin as nothing else could.

Odin was feeling around his bare leg absently. Before he could realize his pants (and with them their pockets) were gone, Loki leaned over and summoned the bag of sugar lumps his father was looking for and handed them over. While Odin was distracted feeding them to Sleipnir, Loki took the chance to conjure a pair of leggings right onto the All-Father himself. He made sure to pick a pair that matched the rest of the haphazard outfit.

_Perhaps it says too much that I have multiple selections of Father’s clothes tucked away in my personal pocket dimension._

Loki helped Odin mount a patient Sleipnir. The ride down the rest of the bridge was uneventful, mostly thanks to Sleipnir’s intelligence. Whenever Odin attempted to urge him into a gallop or turn him about, the horse ignored him and kept on track for the city, seemingly aware of the difference between where his master needed to be taken and what Odin would ask.

When they arrived back at the palace, it was to the relief of several scurrying palace guards and servants who quickly grouped around them offering aid. Loki allowed them to help his father dismount before dismissing the useless lot. Though he did take the ever-faithful Sven’s offer of a drink - a small one now, and a larger waiting in his own rooms. It would be well deserved. And, as usual, the regular sleeping draught would be delivered to Odin’s chambers.

Odin’s chambers were the ones they always had been. Thor had instead built new quarters for himself and his family at the other end of the palace. Loki had kept his old quarters, which had expanded to include Thor’s rooms. He was the only other residence in the Royal Wing.

They entered Odin’s apartments. Odin’s confusion didn’t ease with the familiarity of his surroundings. They strolled through the entrance chambers, receiving room, and down the hallway towards the main bedroom without comment. Loki held his breath as they passed the old nursery, since converted into a reading room. Thankfully, Odin’s capricious mind had moved on from thoughts of infant sons.

The moment they arrived in the main bedroom, Huginn flew from Odin’s shoulder to settle on his perch behind the massive bed. The bird creaked a final ‘good night’ before stuffing his head under his wing, clearly eager to go back to his interrupted rest. Odin rubbed at his own eye but stubbornly resisted. Instead, his gaze settled, with puzzlement, upon the armoire in the corner. The large mirror reflected the dishevelled father and son, like some sad family portrait. Below it, where there was once the combs, oils, trinkets and assorted knick-knackery Frigga had collected, there were now only stacks of books.

“Where is…where is Fri-Frigg-Frigga…?” Odin muttered.

Loki tapped Odin’s clothes once more, magically exchanging them for sleepwear.

“Mother is gone,” he said tiredly. “It’s time to go to sleep.”

“No!” Odin pouted at once. “No, no, I’m supposed to go…go somewhere - “ he patted at his clothes, changing them into formal palace wear, and then to armour, and then halfway between the two. “I…there is always, always somewhere I-I must be, I must.”

“There’s nowhere you need to go, Your Grace.”

“There is always somewhere to be when you’re important!” dismissed Odin, shrugging off Loki’s hands and making for the door just as someone knocked upon it.

Odin opened it to reveal Sven holding a serving tray with a single goblet upon it. “Nightcap, Your Grace?” he asked.

 _The sleeping draught. At last._ “Oh, go on, All-Father,” Loki urged.

Odin took a step back, uncertain. “I c-can’t drink just now, I have to go…go to…t-to...” he frowned, moustache twitching as he fought to obscure his lack of knowledge. “T-to…you don’t need to know. Move aside."

“Please, sir. It’s your favourite mulled mead.” Sven leaned forward.

“It would help settle your nerves,” Loki encouraged.

“I said move aside,” Odin growled. “Are you deaf?”

Sven persisted. “Your Majesty, I think you will find you need this mead -“

There was almost no warning.

One moment, Odin had been dazed. The next, a blast of fire erupted from his hand, burning towards Sven.

Loki reacted. A flash of green light collided with the golden, elbowing it aside just enough to burn past Sven’s ear. The goblet fell from the tray and shattered.

Silence. 

“Thank you, Sven. I’ll…I’ll handle things. Please, bring another and leave it for me outside.”

Sven, to his credit, hadn’t even blinked. He bowed curtly. “At once, Your Grace,” he said, and only a man who knew the evenness of his voice throughout many decades could have detected the slight tremor in it. He shut the door a little too quickly, retreating on silent footsteps.

Odin stared at the goblet. “I didn’t mean to.” He looked up at Loki like a scorned dog. “It was just…I didn’t like it. It was too close.”

“It’s fine, Father,” Loki said forcefully. “It was just an accident.”

He cast a banishing spell at the shards of goblet and its spilt contents. It vanished like it had never been there at all.

“Now. I…how about I read something aloud, like we usually do?” Loki went to the vanity cabinet, focusing intently on shuffling through the tomes. “There’s _Askeladd,_ naturally. Or I could continue _The Saga of Björn Gullson -_ we’d just gotten to the part where he was wrestling the bear as part of their marriage ceremony. Or perhaps some history? You do find Alfheim in the seventh century to be very amusing.”

It was like flicking a switch. The guilt evaporated from Odin’s face, replaced with a smirk. “Yes. They were always building on swamps. They’d done it for so long that by the time they realized it wasn’t a good idea, it was tradition. So they kept building sinking castles, over and over again, one on top of the other.” He pressed a hand to his mouth and giggled.

“And they named them as if they were children of the castles whose bones they stood on,” chuckled Loki.

“Ridiculous,” Odin agreed. “It would often take half a day to say the name of a place. Gunnartoft-son of-Helkatown-son of-Jarispoint-son of-Iverson Point-son of-Jarysvárlfkirk. Just saying the name of a place was a history lesson in failure and stubbornness.”

It was easy to move past the uncomfortable incidents if you allowed yourself to be caught up in the quick-shifting winds that Odin now sailed. Loki was only too happy to do so.

He was feeling selfish, so he chose the book of Askeladd stories, as he often did. Even deep into adulthood as he now was, he retained a childlike glee for the lazy but clever protagonist.

In every story, Askeladd and his family were a little different - sometimes they were peasants, and sometimes princes - but he was always the youngest, he always played in the ashes of a fire he was meant to be tending, and he was always the least-regarded, the last resort to any problem. But nonetheless, he never failed.

He flicked through the book until he found a favourite amongst favourites.

“The Heartless Troll,” he announced, settling into the golden seat by the bed.

Odin milled about the room as he began the story. (This time Askeladd was the eighth son of a great king who wished to see his sons all married. His eldest seven were sent away to search for brides. Only Askeladd was kept back.) The All-Father was distracted for the first few pages, changing his clothing into various sets for various affairs, picking up and putting down objects near his wardrobe, his face still creased in puzzlement.

“The seven brothers came upon a king with seven daughters. They were so comely that the princes were compelled at once to propose to them. Upon their agreement, the party of fourteen set off for home. Eager to impress their father with their new brides, the princes decided to cut through the mountains…knowing not that a terrible troll lived there...”

Though he still stubbornly wandered the room, Odin’s feet were beginning to drag. Loki kept his tone steady and soothing, though he couldn’t resist having a separate voice for each of the characters, including a comically guttural one for the troll.

 _“‘Who goes there?’_ the troll rumbled. _‘The bravest warrior princes in the land!’_ declared Askeladd’s brothers. _‘Accompanied by their new loves! You’d best let us pass, for we’ve all the reason in the world to fight!’”_

Odin had at last come to a stop, standing across the bed from Loki. He swayed on the spot, face now more blank than confused. Loki knew the next part by memory anyway, so he put the book down and went to Odin, again changing him into his sleeping clothes and easing him into bed, all the while continuing the story.

"The troll laughed at them. _‘No warrior has ever beaten a mountain, and so no warrior can beat me.’_ The brothers, each skilled in a weapon of war, drew them and attacked. The eldest stuck the troll through with his spear, and the second brother ran him through with his sword and so forth and so on until even the seventh brother had pierced the troll’s chest with his dagger. But the troll just kept on laughing…”

There was the lightest of knocks on the door. Loki waited, giving time for Sven to retreat, and then retrieved the new goblet full of sleeping draught. This time Odin took it without a fuss, sipping at it quietly while Loki continued.

“ _‘I have no heart in me for you to pierce. Unlike you foolish creatures, I have put it somewhere safe. Here, I will help you protect your own.’_ The troll then turned all the princes and princesses to stone.”

“What a bastard,” Odin said matter-of-factly.

Loki blinked in surprise. He’d never heard his father speak in such terms. It was oddly refreshing.

“The king waited long for his sons to return, but no matter his pining, they remained missing, year after year. He fell into a great grief, refusing to eat or sleep. Askeladd went to his father to ask permission to search for his brothers. He was refused. _‘If I were to lose you as well, then I would swear off air itself,’_ the king declared. _‘I did not know that you loved me so,’_ Askeladd told his father. _‘You said that I was lazy, good for nothing more than blowing on the ashes to relight the fire. I was not permitted to seek a wife with the others, and instead was hidden away.’”_

Odin’s eye had closed. Loki reached out with his magic and began to dim the lights in the room.

“ _’You are all that I have left,’_ the king said. _'I will not lose you too.'_ But Askeladd could see the shadow of death upon his father, so severe was his heartbreak. So in the night the eighth son left the kingdom in disguise, that he might rescue his brothers and restore his family - as well as seek his own fortune.”

Odin looked to be well asleep. Quietly, Loki marked his place and shut the book, placing it on the chair as he stood. He was halfway to the door when his father’s voice called out to him, muddled and distant.

“I have been thinking on the names you suggested, Frigga. Kari seems sweet, if it were a girl.”

Loki paused. He should not leave if Odin were not yet asleep. He could well go wandering again.

“Kari,” he repeated. How interesting it was, for a moment, to picture what his life would have been like if he’d been born a girl. A girl named Kari. He was fairly certain the kitchen maid Thor had pursued when they were teenagers had been named Kari. No doubt that would have caused some awkwardness. “And if it’s a boy?” he inquired.

“I assume you still feel rather strongly about Baldur.” Odin sighed. “It is…a fine name. Or…perhaps we should wait to see if it suits him...”

Evidently, Loki had come out looking very un-Baldur-ish. His goatee stretched in a small, quick grin. _Baldur. Meaning pure of heart, fair of visage. A light to guide all Aesir._ _Well, I can’t say Father didn’t have me pegged. He took one look at me and knew I was a Loki at once. Loki: a knot. A puzzle. A closed way. Much more fitting._

“Good thinking, Husband,” he said aloud. “He is still a stranger to us, after all. We should at least shake his hand before we label the child for life.”

Odin fell quiet once more. Loki waited for the first snore this time. Several minutes passed.

“It’s not your fault, Frigga. It’s not your fault.”

It was barely more than a whisper. Odin reached an arm out across the massive expanse of the bed to stroke the pillow where his wife’s head had once lain.

“It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault. It was…my fault. I should have known. I should have seen the danger. I’m so sorry, Frigga. I…I should not have allowed it…he would have lived, if I’d just been _vigilant..._ it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not…it is mine. Blame me. Blame me, Frigga.”

Loki’s stomach dropped. He was intruding, seeing something he was never meant to know, but curiosity and horror fastened his feet to the floor. And yet why should it disturb him so?

“I’m so sorry, Frigga. So sorry.”

It occurred to Loki that, in all their shared millennia of life, he had never heard his father apologize for anything. At least not to Loki’s hearing.

There came a hitched breath. Then several more, quicker and faster.

It took a minute of unmistakable, quiet sobs for Loki to finally recognize them for what they were.

His father was crying.

He slowly approached the bed, taking each step as if it were over broken glass. When he stood above Odin, he held out a tentative hand, just above the lump of sheets. They were trembling.

“Father?” Loki asked quietly.

The lump continued to sob. Loki gently brushed his palm across what he presumed was a shoulder. Wrapped in white, his father almost seemed a fragile, porcelain figure. Loki squeezed the limb briefly, then made to pull back.

Odin’s hand moved in a blur from Frigga’s pillow, snatching at his son's wrist. Loki froze.

“Stay. Please.” Odin whispered. “I’m so lost. I…I do not know what I am meant to be doing. Please... don’t leave me. Please.”

Loki tried to gently pry the old god’s fingers from his arm, but they were old warrior god fingers and would not be budged. He relented, allowing his father to reel him into the bed, pausing only to awkwardly kick off his boots. Odin’s other hand grabbed the front of his leathers, pulling Loki as close as a drowning man held a broken mast in a storm.

The lanky god settled into the down pillows, his knees complaining slightly as he bent to accommodate Odin’s clinging. There would be no escaping this embrace until morning. He resigned himself to spending the night, and in his court clothes no less. There was no way to change them now unless he wanted to risk disturbing Odin further with the magic.

Slowly, Odin’s heaving breaths eased off. They deepened into a rattle, on the verge of a snore, and the sound seemed to press some button in Loki’s mind. A memory was conjured up, so far away as to surely be half-imagined now, of running into this room on soft feet in the night. The bed had been tall - he’d had to jump, scrabbling at the blankets. He’d slipped, pulling the sheet down to the floor. Then came the tears - not just because he’d hit the floor, but because he was so close to his parents but could not reach them, and they had not seen him, and he was suddenly afraid that what he’d been running from would arrive now and pull him away, and his father and mother would sleep on and on and not hear him as he screamed out to them and -

A sleepy arm had reached out and felt around until it touched his head. The bed had creaked, and he was suddenly lifted by his armpits, up and up and up. There had been mutters, a sleepy _‘What’s wrong?’_ , muffled assurances, the rustle of blankets being moved about. Yet still Loki had cried - the sobs had a rhythm now, his breaths too deep, and the panic still firmly wedged in his mind, even though he was aware that it was silly, that he was safe. The shame only made him sob all the louder. Perhaps they had asked what was the matter - he could not recall. He did not think he could have responded in that state. So they simply pressed him between the two of them, waiting for him to calm. Frigga had murmured something comforting, and Odin had grumbled.

 _“They were coming to take me away,”_ he’d whispered when he could speak again. _“I was alone, and I called out to you. But they came instead. I ran and I ran and I ran and I know it was a dream, but when I woke up I was alone and I called out to you. And then I ran here.”_

Loki quirked a smile as he recalled that logic. “Will you protect me from the Frost Giants, Father?” he whispered, the smile seeping into his voice. “Will you stop them from taking me away?”

The old man’s grip tightened again. “You are mine, Loki. No-one is taking you away. I would not allow it. Now go to sleep, boy.”

Loki closed his eyes. It would surprise him later, that he’d fallen asleep so easily after being commanded. Perhaps it had something to do with the pressure of being held, or the faint scent of his mother’s perfume that still haunted the room. Or maybe it was the relief of being addressed by his name, to be remembered for a moment, even if only as a child.

“Mine. My boy,” Odin muttered.

“Yours,” Loki breathed in agreement, then slipped into unconsciousness.

**The RAVEN**

* * *

Huginn shuffled on his perch, grumbling to himself. How much longer until Odin fell asleep and Huginn could join him? He had hoped that by putting his head under his wing he’d made his intentions clear. But no. Still talking, talking, _talking._ How much longer did Huginn have to fake sleep before he could get the real thing?

“Will you protect me from the Frost Giants, Father?” Loki said sleepily. “Will you stop them from taking me away?”

The bird watched Odin tighten his grip around his son’s wrist. “You are mine, Loki. No-one is taking you away.”

Huginn scoffed. _Odin. Always want to keep. Mine, mine, mine._

“Mine. My boy,” Odin muttered.

The raven huffed in vindication. _Odin still my Odin. Many things change, but not that._

“Yours,” Loki agreed, his voice barely audible. Already he was mostly asleep.

Huginn creaked in envy and tried in vain to will himself into slumber. But Odin _still_ kept talking, talking, _talking_ even though no-one was listening.

“Yes. You belong to me now, and I’m taking you home,” Odin mumbled. “You’ll like Asgard, you’ll see. No need to cry.”

Huginn’s mind blossomed with images of Asgard as Odin had remembered it during the last war. It made the bird’s head ache. Such things still didn’t feel like they belonged to him. They didn’t _fit_. Besides, Huginn knew that Asgard didn’t really look like that - the oceans were not so green, nor the skies so large. Asgard was really a rather small place, especially from above, but in Odin’s lonely memories it went on forever.

“Hold still. The way is long, and I will have to walk it myself. Don’t be afraid. I have you.” Odin moved a hand from Loki’s chest to instead grab his open palm. “Just hold on to me.”

At his touch, a small spark of golden magic moved between father and son. Odin smiled, his eyes shut tight and his speech slurring. “We’re... nearly... there…”

The hand was growing cool in his grasp. The chill radiated up Loki’s arm, creeping steadily onward until it washed over his still face, dimming it in the dark with a sudden hue.

Huginn opened a weary eye. The metal of his perch had turned cold and uncomfortable. His feet hurt. He was too sluggish to live up to his name and think about that - he just wanted to be warm, to cross over at last into slumber. With a woozy flutter, he dropped onto the bed, stumbling along until he found the king’s warm side. He burrowed into it with a huff, just below Odin’s head. Hot breath misted over dark feathers. Almost immediately the droplets froze, making the bird even greyer than before.

Blissfully pressed to his son’s cooling chest, Odin had one final thought before drifting away, carrying Huginn’s consciousness in his wake.

_This one will be safe. I swear it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did mean to include an illustration with this, but I am too terribly excited to share it. Perhaps I'll add one later. For now, full speed ahead! Christmas is a time to be with our families...and also a time when we need a break from our families by reading about a fictional family who's comfortingly more messed up than our own. I shall provide this. 
> 
> I really loved writing this chapter. So much so that I didn't stop writing chapters. 
> 
> Let me know how it hit you. I've been writing too long and I'm afraid I can't feel anything for my own work anymore...


	3. Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange dream is followed by a frigid awakening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas. I've brought you yet another chapter with a slog of oddity at the start before I let you get into the delicious drama after it. It's my way. You have to EARN that sweet, sweet suffering. 
> 
> ...I swear there won't be much more of that. Well...maybe ONE more chapter...and then it's straight into the swamps of salty tears, all the time.

_I dreamed._

_I dreamed of cold._

_I dreamed of silence._

_I dreamed I was alone._

_I was wrong._

_Behind me was a great statue of a man. He was tall and bearded, a nobility to his features. I thought I recognized him, first as my father, then as my brother, then as my son. At last I thought it might be myself. His finger was extended, pointing in the direction of the horizon, where endless stygian sky met untouched white snow._

_I obeyed his direction and walked. Yet the longer I walked, the more lost I felt._

_A name - I should call a name._

_I couldn’t think of any names._

_So I listened. Perhaps someone would call me by name. Then I could go to them, and be what they called me._

_And yet all I dreamed of was silence._

_So I walked. After a time I became aware of something moving behind me. I turned and saw my shadow, flat on the ground. I stared at it. It stared back, with the bluest of eyes._

_I walked on. My shadow followed - sometimes in step, sometimes falling behind._

_I dreamed that something broke the silence._

_It was a quiet sound. But quiet after such silence was deafening._

_My shadow leapt ahead of me, chasing the noise. I followed._

_We were not the only ones to hear it._

_Red eyes began to appear out of the darkness, far above me._

_The white horizon was broken. Something dark lay ahead._

_The sound was growing._

_It was coming from a hole. A hole in the world. It was a perfectly circular, perfectly endless abyss. I came to a halt by its edge. My shadow stayed behind me._

_All around the hole, the giants gathered. They stared at it, transfixed by the sound._

_A giant reached into his chest. He ripped out his heart, leaving a perfectly circular hole._

_He dropped the heart into the void._

_We listened to its beat fade away._

_Another giant reached in her chest, tearing out her heart. This, too, she threw into the hole._

_We listened to its beat fade away._

_A third giant did the same._

_We listened to its beat fade away._

_Soon every giant had a hole instead of a heart. Despite that, the hole in the ground had grown no smaller._

_The sound grew louder - calling, calling, in a language I did not speak._

_The first giant called back, in the same, wordless language. He stepped forward and fell into the hole._

_We listened to his voice fade away._

_Another giant harmonized with the call. She fell to her knees and reached into the darkness, grasping, grasping - but it was too far. She fell in._

_We listened to her voice fade away._

_A third giant did the same._

_We listened to his voice fade away._

_Soon every giant had fallen into the hole but one._

_He was not looking at the hole, as the others had done. He was looking at me, with pale pink eyes._

_“Who are you?” he asked._

_An answer of old habit came to me. “Call me by a name, and I shall answer to it.”_

_“Why haven’t you come before?” he asked._

_“You didn’t call me before,” I answered._

_“Why haven’t you fallen?” he asked._

_“My heart wasn’t in it,” I answered._

_“Your heart is not alone,” he said. “You were followed. Who is with you?”_

_I assumed he meant my shadow, still watching from behind me. “It is just my shadow. It follows me everywhere, as most do.”_

_The giant leaned in close and frowned. “I see no shadow; only two who walk as one, when only one was called.”_

_Fast as a striking snake, he seized my head at either side and pulled._

_A peculiar sensation. One mind moved left, one right - we stumbled apart from each other._

_I looked at myself. Myself looked back at me._

_The shadow leapt at the giant, hissing and squawking. The giant blinked in surprise, stumbled backwards - and fell into the hole._

_We watched him fall._

_The shadow tried to return to me, but could not tell me apart from my other self. It moved first towards me, and then towards him, back and forth - and then it froze, perfectly in between us, shuddering like the last leaf on a winter tree._

_It closed its eyes and faded away._

_The music stopped the moment the shadow was entirely gone._

_Silence again._

_Then the hole was louder than ever before. And it was growing._

_I ran from the edge. So did my other self._

_But the hole was faster._

_The white ground vanished under my other self’s feet._

_He fell._

_I reached out and seized his hand._

_The hole stopped expanding._

_I tried to pull my other self up. But something had seized his leg._

_“It’s time,” said the hole. “You have to let go.”_

_“No,” we said in tandem._

_“You don’t have a choice.”_

_The darkness was spreading. It tugged again, harder._

_It was stronger than me._

_“You can’t have him!” I snarled. “He’s mine!”_

_“You stole him,” said the hole. “He was never yours.”_

_I was losing my grip. The darkness was winning. “I don’t want to go!” My other self pleaded. The hole had reached his shoulders._

_“You belong here,” said the hole. “It’s been too long already. Everything must return from whence it came. That is the way of all things.”_

_The darkness had covered my other self's face. He was disappearing._

_“No...” I strained._

_It wasn’t enough._

_Our hands slipped apart._

_He fell into the hole._

_I reached out, uselessly - but he was gone._

_I stood alone._

No, _I thought._ This will not stand. I will not let this happen, will not let him go.

_The power came to me easily, as it always had. I pulled it from my chest in a long, shimmering rope of light. With all my might, I cast the end into the abyss._

_…_

_…_

_…_

_I was falling._

_At first it was frightening, but then…it was like falling asleep. A warmth was seeping into me, comforting and strangely, distantly familiar._

_I could forget everything before the fall, in warmth like this…_

_Then, a light in the darkness - a thread of light, racing down to meet me._

_My heart surged. I reached out and caught it._

_I stopped falling._

_The light burrowed into my chest._

_I could feel my other self on the other end of it, still holding on._

_The cord began to pull up, up._

_The darkness roared._

_Faster, faster I rose, the darkness close behind._

_The light of above appeared, widened. Hands seized mine once more._

_I was pulled free._

_The hole vanished._

_I held myself. We breathed together, exhausted, relieved. Between us, the cord hummed._

_A silhouette fell over us. We looked up to see the last giant, the one who’d asked us who we were._

_“What have you done?” he rasped._

_I held my other self close._

_The giant rumbled, like warning storm clouds. “You should have let nature take its course. No good can come from -“ He stopped, pale pink eyes widening. “I know you,” he whispered. “I_ know _you! You - you did this! It was you!”_

_We huddled together, aghast as the giant seemed to grow. At his feet appeared one shadow, two shadows, three, ten, twenty, uncountable, all them growing like saplings until we were in a dark forest full of burning red eyes._

_The pink-eyed giant pointed at us. “I know you! You are Giant’s-Bane!”_

_Something wet lapped against our feet. We looked down. The snow we stood upon was welling up blood. We stepped backwards. Each footstep filled with red and leaked over, staining the snow around us in an ever-growing red circle._

_"You are War-Bringer!” cursed the giant, so tall now he blocked out the sky._

_The snow was melting from the blood. We were sinking into it, up to our knees already._

_"You are -“_

_We sank into the sea. We came apart as we drifted, slipping out of each other’s reach. Panicked, I reached out for the familiar hand, grasping, clawing -_

_Darkness covered my vision, but still the voice of the giant chased me, ringing in my ears._

_“You are -“_

_What? I was what?_

_“You are -“_

_“Father?”_

_Was that what I was?_

_“Father?”_

_No, it was said like a question - was someone asking if I was that?_

“Father?”

_I couldn’t see who it was - couldn’t see who was calling me…Or was it me who was calling out…?_

“Father, you’re hurting me…”

**ODIN**

* * *

Odin awoke.

Odin awoke to cold.

His breath puffed out in short, sharp vapours, visible even in the dim. A pinkish light was creeping through the windows, just enough to pluck out the edges of the room’s contents. There was something off about them. They were glimmering. Encased in…

Ice.

Veins of it, stretching along the ceiling like a great tree. It coated the walls and mirrors, stretched branches in-between the arms of the decorative statuary, hung in long, dangerous icicles from the ceiling and the chandelier. It seemed to emanate from the bed - rising up from the floor were long, triangular pieces, pointed outward, as if in defence, while longer columns had built themselves out from the four posters to create a canopy of long, translucent fingers, cupping Odin like how a child held an injured bird.

As for his bird - Huginn had tucked himself deep into Odin’s side. The raven was strangely stiff and unmoving, feathers coated in rime.

Odin himself felt numb, heavy - as if he’d slept a thousand years. His hand was clenched into a claw. He tried to move it.

Nothing. It was as if his arm was not his own, but a stranger’s sewn to his body.

He tried again. And again. Slowly, his fingers unbent, almost creaking like rusty metal in need of oil. But something prevented them from completely releasing his grip. Something wrapped around his hand, a cage with five bars.

He blinked, eyelashes sticking together briefly.

Another hand held his own.

It was blue.

His eye followed the blue up. It disappeared into a sleeve. The sleeve was connected to an arm, a shoulder, a neck where the blue appeared again, and finally, a face. A face viewed from below, as Odin’s head laid against its chest.

The face was not only blue. Lines, raised and carved alike, traced its skin in swirls and angles. It was not unlike frost in a windowpane…

No…it couldn’t be.

It was a Frost Giant. But yet the size of a man.

Odin willed himself to move, to find a weapon to defend himself. His leg twitched, crackling a frozen bedsheet, but no more. He was helpless.

Was this an assassination attempt? How could it be, it made no sense…it didn’t matter if it made sense, he needed to fight back. He should call upon his _seidr_ and blast away every flake of snow before burying a knife in the gut of this creature. How dare it invade their world, their home, their bed -

Their.

Where was Frigga?

It was only him and the jötunn in this bed.

A deeper panic seized him. Was she kidnapped? Was this runt left behind to freeze Odin in place, so that he could not go to her rescue? Or was he here to negotiate with Odin? How brazen to put himself in Odin’s grasp after taking Frigga away.

Blades and chains and magic for cruel fire flashed through his mind. He would swiftly correct this trespasser’s assumptions. There was much that could be done while a giant was still alive, and he would be singing the location of Frigga before the sun set this day.

His anger caused his hand to clench once more, nails digging into the abhorrent, rough skin of the intruder.

“Father, you’re doing it again,” the creature spoke, raspy from sleep.

Odin stared. _What sort of trick is this…?_

The voice. The sound of it…familiar. How could that be?

Movement tickled his side. A muffled caw. Huginn had awoken. He stirred feebly, but seemed as unable to move as Odin. Unlike Odin, however, he'd found his speech. He crowed in alarm, loud and raucous.

The blue face twitched in irritation, though the eyes remained closed. “Has Huginn mistaken himself for a rooster? It’s barely dawn.”

He _knew_ that voice. Had the giant stolen it? Was he trying to trick Odin?

Huginn hissed in confusion. He tried to peck at the little giant, to push him away from Odin.

The voice spoke again, rusty with sleep. “I will grab that bird and shove him into a pocket dimension if he doesn’t let me get five more minutes sleep.”

An image surfaced in Odin’s mind - _A boy proudly making a toy disappear in one hand before plucking it out of thin air with the other, saying ‘Look, Pabbi - I can do it just like you and mum!’ -_ which was tied to yet another - _a youth hugging a many-eyed eldritch creature while begging 'Can I keep it, I found it trying to eat Brother and I love it' -_ which melted into - _a young man across a tafl board, stroking a finger under his lip as he thought of his next move, even though Odin knew that at this point it was hopeless for that side._

Huginn stilled. Tilted his head. Let out a long, questioning croak.

The blue hand withdrew from around Odin as the jötunn scrunched up his face and rolled away, burying himself in the blankets. Muffled beneath them, he mumbled “I’ve got another long day of councils and meetings and hand-shakings and if I’m grumpy it could well start a war. I’d hate to make Thor so happy.”

 _Thor._ He knew that name.

_Two boys, one dark, one fair, muttering conspiratorially when they thought Odin wasn’t looking. Broken toys, shouts of blame. Arguments over a stab wound in Thor’s stomach, a lightning scorch on the dark-haired boy’s favourite stuffed toy. Odin bringing Thor back from a weeks-long hunting trip to Vanaheim, and the dark-haired child running to embrace him, burying his face in his brother’s shoulder so as to disguise tears he already thought himself too old for. Telling old war stories, taking his children to see his museum of relics in the heart of Asgard, Thor in one hand, the dark-haired child in other._

_Thor’s coronation day. His son was to be the last in the procession, but first came Frigga, arm in arm with a dark-haired man in ornamental armour and tall horns. He was smiling, proud, and yet - something was off in his stride. Suspicion grew in Odin’s stomach. How convenient for him that he sat upon the Hliðskjálf and could cast his eyes into the depths of Asgard and see what trouble may be brewing…the ceremony interrupted, Odin hastening to the Vault just in time to mend the rift in the space. He thought he saw red, red eyes coming towards the tear, suddenly turning fearful as he trapped them in the darkness between worlds._

_The dark-haired man cowering before Odin, trying to explain. 'Thor wasn’t ready, it was just to show you... no harm is done, just a bit of excitement is all it was…it was nothing…’_

The faster the images came, the more agitated Huginn grew. His body twitched all over as he fought the stiffness that paralyzed them both.

_After Thor became King, Odin slept. When he awoke, it was time for another ceremony, this time a wedding. On one side of the room, two women entered, sisters, arm in arm. On the other side, the dark-haired man entered arm-in-arm with Thor. When they met in the middle, each relinquished their sibling and retreated again. Thor and his new bride continued down the hall, this time kneeling before Frigga, as this was her rite to command._

_And oh, how proud she was. The next time he saw that expression was years later, in their own living quarters, when the dark-haired man, all nerves and excitement, introduced them to a woman with a shy expression. Odin had said ‘You have my blessings, a fine match’, and_ _Frigga hugged the woman and Odin clapped his son, yes, of course this was his son, clapped his son on the shoulder and smiled for him._

Warmth trickled from Odin’s chest, swelling him with pride. His hand relaxed as life itself seemed to flow through every limb.

_A jump, and the scene shifted. The woman was gone. His son had tried to explain, but his words, normally so precise, were instead thick with grief, cracking and gurgling until he was sobbing openly, and Frigga took him into her arms while Odin stood by, held back by the press of a secret guilt (he’d known it wasn’t possible, and yet he hoped the relationship might have survived it…but the shy-eyed woman had always seen herself as a mother, for longer than she’d seen herself as his son’s wife, and when she’d had to choose…)_

_And then there was no more Frigga to comfort his son, or hold Odin close. Frigga was in a boat, sailing towards the edge of Asgard. Thor raised_ _Gungnir and pounded the ground, sending the boat flying into the cosmos, releasing a gasp of stars to join it. Oh, how Odin had swayed, how certain he was that he would have fallen if not for the arm about him, though it trembled same as he._

_He saw his son, now with a precisely-kept goatee, a touch of gray at either temple, leading him through the Gardens, speaking quietly of whatever the day’s events had been, and someone had approached, asked how Odin was, and Odin had introduced himself, never having seen the stranger. And his son had looked over at him, startled, and suddenly worried. Father, he’d said, Father, are you alright? You know this man well. He is dear to you._

When he looked at the jötunn now, he could see the same gray on either side of his head, could see the sorrowful eyebrows, the long point of his nose sticking out over the blankets. He knew every plane, every notch, every expression that face was capable of, and each of them called to his mind one word, the only word that could possibly describe everything this man was to Odin.

 _“Loki,”_ he breathed.

Horror filled his breast. He had been about to strike his own son dead.

“Oh, if you insist…” muttered Loki. His eyelashes fluttered.

Odin slapped his hand over them. “No!” he nearly shouted, followed by a hiss of pain. The sudden movement had sent hot needles through every inch he’d moved. “No,” he said again before Loki could comment. "“Everything is fine. Just…just bad dreams. Go back to sleep, my boy. You have much to do in the morning.”

“I can help with the dreams,” Loki yawned, exposing black gums as he tried to brush away Odin’s hand. “There’s a spell -“

“I know it, of course I know it, foolish boy,” snapped Odin. “Go back to sleep at once.”

“Is…is something wrong?” Loki asked, pausing. “Why can’t I see?”

“Because my hand is in front of your eyes, daft child,” Odin said, managing to inflect a smile into the words even as he began to panic.

Loki was not fooled. "Father, if something’s amiss, I - ”

Loki Odinson was celebrated as one of the greatest sorcerers in all the Nine Realms. His speciality was illusions, but he was renowned also for his mind magic, fiendfyre, and quickness with a knife. Odin was old, his body still near paralyzed, his wits only recently returned. But once he’d been Odin Witchking, _the_ greatest sorcerer in all the Nine Realms.

The sleeping spell struck hard and fast. Loki stuttered, then fell back into the pillows, snoring.

The frost in the air cut his lungs as Odin gasped. That had taken more out of him than it should have - and the spell he needed to perform next was many times greater.

Huginn flopped up onto Odin’s chest, gingerly flapping his wings. He eyed Loki with concern and croaked questioningly.

“I don’t know how it happened,” Odin replied. “The transfiguration should have lasted twenty thousand years at least. Only jötunn magic is capable of disrupting it.”

Huginn looked around the room, then hopped onto Loki’s shoulder protectively. He cawed again, challenging the room.

“There are no Jötnar in here, bird.” Odin grimaced and forced himself into a sitting position.

Huginn looked down at Loki’s blue head, then back at him. He croaked condescendingly.

“He doesn’t count,” Odin said gruffly.

 _“Could Loki undid it?”_ Huginn asked stubbornly.

It was possible; the boy was an advanced mage, experimenting in all sorts of crafts and fields that had advanced past what Odin had known of them in his time. Perhaps some new spell or alchemy had interfered in a previously unforeseen way. And yet…Loki may have dabbled in other pursuits, but he had long since dedicated himself to illusions and other manipulations of the mind. Nothing in those fields could disrupt a transfiguration; that sort of magic was beyond most on Asgard. To create this spell, Odin had mixed his knowledge of magic practiced on Alfheim, Ul’lula, and Xarta, even strands of the natural defences of the Skrulldrugger dragons of Na. It was unique in all the universe - only one knew how to cast and remove it permanently.

Odin lifted his own hands up to be examined. They were old hands - the veins extruded, soft and squishy, the knuckles knobbly and cracked, the nails thick and dented. But what worried him most was the shake they’d picked up centuries ago. It had progressed into an unignorable shudder. They were unsteady, unreliable - untrustworthy.

 _“Odin undid?”_ Huginn croaked.

Odin said nothing. Instead, he pulled Loki’s head into his lap, knocking the raven loose. Stubbornly, the bird landed right back on the boy’s head.

_“If O~odin undid, Odin fix, Odin might undo again?”_

Odin waved at the bird. He didn’t want whatever magical interference he might bring to contaminate this fresh casting. Huginn persisted.

_“What if next time, outside?”_

How had the spell gone? There had been no incantation, he could remember that much…Norns, what had been the _form_ of the thing?

_“What if next time, SEEN?”_

It was on the tip of his tongue, he could fix this, it would be like it never happened, he just needed to _concentrate -_

_“O~ODIN! What if next time, LOKI see?!”_

Odin reached out and plucked at Huginn’s feet, the bird dancing to avoid him, scrabbling to and fro over Loki’s face. “Blasted bird - you’ll wake him!” he hissed.

 _“And then?”_ Huginn creaked.

Odin looked down at his son’s unfamiliar face. It was disconcerting to see him like this. For the first few centuries after he’d taken Loki into his house, he’d catch himself wondering what Loki _really_ looked like as the world moved unknowing around him - how bizarre to picture a jötunn child playing with Asgardians without fear, or held to the breast of the All-Mother herself. Shame followed these thoughts, though Odin was unsure just where it came from. Soon the image of that jötunn form grew blurrier and blurrier as in his mind his son and that concept grew more and more separate.

And yet here he lay.

Odin wondered how badly this morning could have gone if he had not awoken first. If Loki had seen the room - seen himself - Odin shivered.

No. No, he had decided against his son ever experiencing that revelation some time ago. What Loki was…it was not this. Not really.

“Loki must not see,” he said. “He will not see.”

 _“Almost did,”_ the raven whispered. _“So close. And Odin - Odin nearly hurt Loki. Did not see Loki, saw jötunn. What if next time?”_

Odin paused. _Next time. How many times before this had there been? How many times had he almost said something - did something - in the depths of his ever-growing madness? What if next time was worse than this time?_

He brushed the thoughts - and Huginn - aside. First, he had to fix this time.

Odin placed a hand on the back of Loki’s head, as he had in the temple on Jötunheim years ago. He stroked his cheek with his thumb.

He hesitated. There was no time to waste on curiosity, and yet…

He continued to brush his thumb over his son’s unfamiliar skin, wishing it was not so strange to the man who called himself his father. The blue was a deeper shade than he remembered it being on the babe, though he was no less endearing for it. It was like the sky an hour after sunset, before the world was entirely dark. A mysterious, beguiling colour. He was sure he’d seen no other jötunn who possessed it. Unique, perhaps.

His thumb detoured to trace one of the raised lines on Loki’s brow. He hadn’t noticed, before, that there was the shape of a bird’s foot, minus the rear toe, in the centre of his forehead.

For all his thoughts about how this was not Loki, he found himself wondering what the scars that crisscrossed this form might mean. He’d been told once that some were hereditary, while others formed over the course of a jötunn’s life. Did they keep a record of the content of that life? Or did they reveal the character that was formed? Or it was all one story, written upon their very skin for all who could read the language? Perhaps that explained why they were so quiet and secretive a people - they’d said all they needed to just by standing there.

What would a jötunn be able to see in these markings that Odin could not? Would they say that Loki had lived a mostly happy life? Would they mark his mercurial nature, or would they make plain the thoughts he so often hid from the world? Would he know his son better, if only he had learned to read this script of flesh?

He itched to send his ravens to Jötunheim again, to learn such a skill. Ridiculous, of course, even if Muninn were still alive and Huginn as sharp as he used to be. Whatever secrets were writ upon this skin, they were not to be known by anyone. Not even Loki himself.

Odin closed his eyes. No more could he see the blue - there was only the weight of Loki in his arms, and that remained the same no matter his form. He inhaled deeply, feeling deep within himself for the thread of his power. He exhaled, opening his eyes.

It was as if Odin’s own skin flowed from his hand over Loki’s face. The cold bled away, like night before a dawn, leaving behind the familiar blankness of his son’s face. Now the only mark was the small dent over his right eye, the origins of which were ever mysterious.

The spell slowed as it reached Loki’s shoulders. There was a great deal more of him than when he was a babe, and Odin was a great deal less than he had been.

He gritted his teeth, fighting the strain as wave after wave of magic drained from him. There would be enough - there had to be enough.

The pink trickled to the edge of Loki's fingernails but would go no further. It was like trying to fight a child into old clothes after a growth spurt.

Odin dug deeper, searching for something, anything within him that would lend the last bit of power. To his surprise, there was something - a thread. He pulled at it. At once, he was filled with power, burning with it. It coursed eagerly into Loki, melting away the remaining blue in an instant.

Odin released him with a grunt of relief, falling back onto the frozen pillows with a crunch.

Loki slumbered on. Perfectly and undeniably Às.

It would have been easy to forget anything had gone wrong - if it weren’t for the frosted state of the room. He couldn’t even get out of bed, what with the jagged, triangular pieces of ice surrounding the thing. It was like sitting in the maw of a giant wolf. Odin gathered his remaining strength and sent out a gust of heat, intending to vaporize the ice. Instead, he was so weakened he only managed to melt it.

A cascade of water soaked the room, a monsoon in the space of a second. Loki’s beloved books floated in the shallow sea that now surrounded their island.

Loki stirred, splashing in the soup of sheets. Odin grabbed his head, intending to strengthen the sleeping spell - and withdrew as quickly as if he’d touched a burning pan.

Loki huffed, but stilled. Undisturbed but for the mark of a thumbprint on his forehead, where the skin had once again turned blue and ridged. Slowly, the rest of the magic bled back into the gap, smoothing it over once more.

Odin pulled back Loki’s sleeve. The arm was perfectly Asgardian. He grasped his wrist. Green and golden sparks leeched into Odin’s wrinkled hands, leaving blue skin behind it. He dropped the wrist and pushed himself away from the boy, far against the backboard of the bed. Slowly, slowly, the blue stains faded as the spell stretched to fill the gap.

Meanwhile, Odin felt ever-so-slightly _refreshed._

Huginn stared at him accusingly. _“O~odin did it.”_

All his life, Odin had been gifted with magical affinities - the elemental gifts that ran through his father’s bloodline, but also the control and artistry required to fashion more subtle spells. As he aged, his knowledge and experience had grown, and those gifts with him. They’d belonged to him, been a part of him - but now…

They did not obey him.

They sought out other power, even his own previous spells, and drew that energy back into himself. An endlessly hungry beast.

He drew up his knees to his chest, ensuring that no part of him was near to Loki. It was a childish pose, which was fitting. He felt like a child, one who had broken something and had no idea how to put it back together - and who couldn’t allow the pieces to be noticed.

 _“What if next time,”_ repeated Huginn ominously.

“There will be no next time,” Odin said suddenly. He forced his aching body to the edge of the bed and slipped into the water with a splash.

Odin shuffled over to the window at the back of the room. It had been covered with a hasty spell from Loki, meant to keep these rooms secure, likely until more powerful spells could be cast. Odin pressed a hand to the magic. At once it tore loose, the energies flowing into Odin. The wind burst into the chamber, shivering across the flooded floor. The old god looked out over Asgard as it brushed his hair back.

 _I could leave,_ he thought suddenly. _While my wits are still about me, I could wander far away and ensure I was not followed. That would protect much._

His knees started to tremble, seemingly exhausted by the short wade over to the window.

 _“Odin weak,”_ Huginn derided. _“Odin not get far.”_

Odin shot a glare at the raven, but as ever, Huginn took no offence. He’d said only what Odin didn’t want to think, but thought anyway.

 _“What Odin real plan?”_ the raven insisted.

Odin looked back at the bed. Suddenly, he wished that he’d taken the time to embrace Loki before putting the transfiguration in place. He realized now that that had been his last opportunity.

Steps now had to be taken. Sacrifices had to be made, if secrets were to be kept.

 _“Same old, same old,”_ Huginn sighed. All at once, he convulsed, shuddering all over. Odin felt his own mind displace for a moment, leaving him wondering why he was standing in water and looking at a stranger lying on his bed.

Huginn settled, quickly preening his feathers back into place with a trembling beak. Odin’s mind refocused, leaving him shaken.

_I am still ill._

How long would this period of sanity last? How many times before had his mind surfaced, only to descend into oblivion again and again? How many times had things careened towards disaster, while he was in such a state?

 _“Many times,”_ Huginn said, head dropping. _“Many, many…sometimes Huginn see, sometimes Huginn try to stop…but sometimes Huginn too slow…Huginn too forgetful…Huginn fail…"_

Loki slumbered peacefully on the bed, even as the ceiling continued to drip like rain upon him. An undignified position, one Odin no longer had the energies to correct. And yet it was good to see him so serene, beyond the effects of his situation. If only Odin could hold on to this image. It would have been a good final memory, if he were still permitted to make those.

He wished he could say something to him - offer some explanation for the actions he was about to take, even if that would defeat the purpose entirely.

 _Think of them as the deeds of a sad, sick old man,_ he urged. _Remember me as I was and know that I would have never chosen to have hurt you, had I been in my right mind._

Huginn tightened his black claws into Odin’s shoulder. _“Loki will not understand.”_

 _No, he likely won’t,_ Odin agreed grimly. _He will likely carry the hurt until he is as old as I am now, and likely beyond his death. Perhaps then it will be safe to explain it to him._

He turned back towards the window, placing a foot into the air. It held. He took a step forward, out of the room and into the sky. This, at least, he could still do. He looked over his shoulder one last time, thought _Goodbye, my Son,_ and descended out of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks again to [JaggedCliffs,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaggedCliffs/pseuds/JaggedCliffs) who has beta'd all chapters so far. 
> 
> ...it's Christmas and all I want are your comments. Leave them under this tree:  
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> Love you all! Keep writing :)


	4. Red & Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin tries to meet Heimdall at a place that no longer exists; later, he catches up with his first-born son.

**ODIN**

* * *

He dropped a good twenty feet before he managed to catch himself. Huginn squawked, holding Odin’s cape aloft as he beat his wings furiously - straining, it seemed, to hold the All-Father aloft.

The All-Father, safely standing in the air, watched Huginn for a few long moments before Huginn noticed. The raven quickly settled in and fluffed his feathers, trying to feign nonchalance.

“Did you really think that would work?” Odin asked in faint amusement.

 _“Huginn’s toe got stuck,”_ the bird said blithely.

Odin chuckled. It faded as he looked out towards the horizon. “Was Heimdall’s Observatory always so far off?”

He took a step forward. The air - or rather, his affinity with it - held.

He’d barely gotten past the distant palace grounds when his legs began to shake like a newborn calf’s. After one foot plunged a few inches lower than the other, he was forced to stop.

 _“Careful. Odin go too slow and his age might catch up with him,”_ Huginn rasped.

The old king shook his foot as if he were any old man trying to return blood flow to a limb with pins and needles. “If you’re feeling particularly youthful, get off my shoulder and fly to Heimdall yourself. Tell him to meet me at the usual tavern.”

Huginn took off with much less whinging than the All-Father had expected. He soon saw why; though the bird’s flight was laborious, he did not have far to go. Instead of heading for the Bifröst, he plunged directly downwards. Directly outside the gates of the palace was a tiny golden dot, who had seemingly paused to wait for the bird.

 _So Heimdall was already on his way,_ Odin noted, the lines in his face darkening.

Below, the golden dot turned away from the palace and into the surrounding city, accompanied by a black smudge perched on his helm.

Odin finished his descent from the air, landing in the forested area next to the palace gates. He mulled over what disguise to use. It wouldn’t matter to Heimdall - he would recognize Odin at once, thanks to his golden gaze. It had been a while since Odin had been to this particular tavern, but he seemed to recall the clientele being of a rougher sort. The blacksmith would likely encounter the least amount of trouble.

He pulled the glamour over himself. Old man’s wrinkled hands became strong, calloused working ones, while his gaze moved up two feet to stare out of a heat-weathered face.

Though the glamour gave him the appearance of a strong, working man, it was little more than refracted light. Inside of it, his body continued to tire and ache. Not only that, but Asgard’s winding streets seemed to have shifted like snakes left unattended. He trudged down alley after alley, recognizing nothing. All at once, a warm hand touched his back. Odin would have leapt at the contact, but exhaustion kept him in place, trembling slightly.

“It is only I, Your Grace,” Heimdall said, Huginn sitting in between the horns of his golden helm. “Come this way.”

The Gatekeeper turned him around and lead him down another winding path. At its end was a white building that seemed vaguely familiar, but not quite right. Odin squinted at it. The sign had gone, but…yes, this was _The Princess and the Unicorn,_ the tavern he had meant to come to.

But inside, the long tables were missing. There were no barmaids, no men in their cups far too early in the day and looking like they knew it. There was only a single table in the centre of the room, ladened with plates of unfinished food. Huginn creaked in excitement and abandoned Heimdall. Before he could be told off, the raven had knocked over a bowl and was happily pecking at the splattered meal inside.

 _“Corn!”_ he informed Odin enthusiastically.

“I am afraid this place hasn’t been a tavern for quite some time,” Heimdall explained, leading Odin to the fire and sitting him in an old armchair there. “It is a family residence, one with quite a few children. It took longer than expected to get them all ready to leave - I would have come to your aid sooner if the youngest hadn’t had quite such a hard time finding her binky.” Heimdall said the last word with such solemnity that, for a moment, Odin wanted to laugh. “My services were required to discover it hiding in her brother’s sock drawer, which was its own commotion. Do not worry, Your Grace - the family was well-compensated for their trouble and are currently enjoying a morning at the seaside. We may make ourselves at home.”

Odin continued to look around the dwelling. It was not a rich home, but nor was it a poor one. Evidence of children was everywhere, now that he looked. Toys littered the floor, as did scraps of costume and pots and pans turned towards imaginative ends. It was quite chaotic, but there was a warmth to it all. This was a house devoted to its children.

Odin flicked the blacksmith’s eyes back onto Heimdall. “Loyal Gatekeeper…did you happen to cast your eyes into my rooms at any point last night?”

Heimdall didn’t hesitate. “When Thor returned, I informed him of where you were, as Loki had requested. I advised the King to leave you be.”

“At what time was that?”

“Not long ago, All-Father. It was less than an hour until sunrise.”

“What did you see?”

Heimdall sat in a wooden chair across from Odin’s, straight-backed but no less fine. He took up a poker and prodded the flames, turning over a log to expose wood flesh yet unburnt.

“I saw nothing I perceived as new information, my King,” he said quietly.

Odin stared at Heimdall, willing him to continue. Heimdall met his gaze and didn’t break it.

Odin looked away and let out a long sigh. “I have long suspected you knew. Did your eyes reveal it?”

“My powers of observation are not without flaw, Your Grace. Flaws you know well. I see him as you intended.”

“How, then?”

“It is a poor watchman who would let his King wander a battlefield without eyes to guard his back.”

Odin wrinkled the blacksmith’s forehead. "I thought I turned your eyes away when I went to pray in the temple.”

“You did, Your Grace. And so I looked elsewhere. Though the Queen was guarded from Sight, I saw nurses coming and going, their faces grim and shadowed. When you left Jötunheim, you did not call for me, but world-walked into Asgard itself - a risk, as some enterprising enemy mage might have followed the wake you made. You would not have put such a tear directly into the heart of Asgard, to your wife’s very bedside, if you did not have good reason.”

 _Churnk._ The log split in half in the heat, one side crumbling into white dust.

“I saw a boy that sickened from illnesses harmless to others in this land. I saw a youth who struggled to find his place. I saw how that alienation frightened him, so he cloistered himself in Asgardian customs, tighter than his rebellious nature should have allowed. I saw a man always eager to prove himself, though he was often ill at ease with what he perceived himself to be.”

Odin frowned, but before he could interject, Heimdall continued. “When I looked in upon you both last night, I saw nothing that I had not already seen by seeing everything else. What I saw was a son who often failed to stay on a good and righteous path, but who never once wavered in his loyalty to the man who raised him. I saw him revealed, but unchanged. In his sleep, a magic he’d never learned to control sought only to defend and protect, building a fortress about you from instinct alone.

“If you are worried about my loyalty, you know that I serve Asgard over her king. But I serve the king and their family second above all, and Loki has ever been your family. I have striven to protect him as such, though I may have had…moments of weakness. He can be very, very…himself, sometimes.”

“Considering the many times my son has worked against you, Heimdall, I can hardly blame you for the occasional jibe at his expense.” Odin smiled. In the next instant, however, it fell from his face. “I wish that we’d spoken before. It has been a burden, sometimes, for only myself and Frigga to know. Sometimes, I admit, I hoped you knew…and that if something were to go wrong, you could act if I was unable.”

Heimdall hesitated. “I am glad to see you well, Your Grace. For a moment, I feared you had…” he broke off, his gaze dropping down a few inches to stare at Odin’s chest. “How do you feel, All-Father?”

Odin glanced down at the spot Heimdall was staring at, but felt nothing amiss. “I have recently become aware that I am mad, Heimdall. I feel none too happy about it. While I have this brief window of sanity, I must take certain actions. Actions that require your help.”

Heimdall nodded in acceptance. “Speak them.”

 _“As if Odin need to be told to give orders,”_ Huginn chuckled as he flew in to perch above the fire. His beak was still encrusted with cornmeal. _“Odin love to speak, orders most of all.”_

Odin ignored the bird, looking instead at an abandoned doll sitting between him and Heimdall. “Loki is not to see me again. He must be kept separate, even after my passing. On no account is he to touch me. That is the most important thing.”

Heimdall turned over another log, still watching Odin with a queer expression. “I am not certain how much of last few millennia you recall, Your Grace. Loki, in addition to being a prince who need not listen to gatekeepers, has been the one in charge of your care. He will not be easily dissuaded to abandon his duties."

Odin did remember, though it was fragmented. Even before Odin's mind had turned against him, Loki had spent much of his time with his parents; as the youngest child, it was his filial duty to attend to them. His mother could not have asked for a more amiable and devoted companion in her final years - the two were always whispering together, laughing, attending functions, or simply going for long walks through the Gardens. As for Odin, Loki had ensured he could want for nothing. Interesting books on a broad range of subjects were left unobtrusively in his study so that the retired All-Father could while away his suddenly open days. His grandchildren by Thor were brought frequently to visit, even when the King himself was busy. And of course, every week he and Loki would sit down for a game of Hnefatafl. Why, just last week it had been Odin’s turn to play the surrounded pieces and Loki the encroaching army, and Odin had still won handily…or…no…that had been the game where Odin had first noted a streak of gray in Loki’s hair, and when he’d left his son behind on the bed Loki clearly had a matching one on the other side of his head.

Had that been before the madness, then? Odin strained, sorting through the flickers in his mind.

A few shameful recollections welled up from dark corners; forgetting a name of an obscure politician and having Loki easily mention it for him; not so long after that, forgetting the names of not-so obscure figures. The names hadn’t left unaccompanied - other words began to drop out of his speech, turning idle conversation into pitfalls of frustration. There again was Loki with just the right jest and turn of phrase, smoothing over the troubles Odin left in his wake, keeping up Odin’s appearance of sanity even before the eyes of a prying court. For as long as he could, anyway. Eventually, even Loki couldn’t disguise his fits.

“He has grown accustomed to knowing what is best out of the two of us,” Odin acknowledged. “And he will be made to question my judgement further when told to perform one last task before we are separated. Loki must cast a _geas_ of silence upon me. He is the only sorcerer powerful enough to do so that we have at hand.”

Heimdall didn’t tell Odin that such a casting would inhibit his magic and likely drastically decrease his remaining lifetime. He didn’t remind Odin that the All-Father likely had little time already. He just looked right through Odin, and it was as if he knew everything Odin would have said in rebuttal to such concerns without even having to ask.

Odin held the Gatekeeper’s gaze with cold, steely resolve. “As for keeping Loki apart from me…for that, I have an idea. If it is concern for me and my care that motivates him to be near, it can also be used to tempt him away.”

Heimdall arched a brow. “Are you proposing a quest?”

Odin’s eye drifted to the fire. "The story of the Gjallarhorn has proven alluring to many.”

“It used to. But there are few stories told about it now. On account of it having been destroyed,” Heimdall said meaningfully.

“As you say, Heimdall. Few speak of it since its destruction - which means few know of its loss. The chase will be fruitless, but should prove sufficiently distracting.”

“How long do you intend for him to be ‘ _distracted_ ’?”

“Until it is no longer necessary,” Odin said, folding his worn hands on his lap. “Although I would wait to tell him until after my body has been dispersed, just in case. Even in death I may prove dangerous.”

Heimdall exhaled slowly. “So sometime after your funeral, you would have Loki told that his efforts were in vain? I do not imagine that would go well."

“You will tell him that the Horn is no more. You will tell him to come home, because it was I who orchestrated everything. Tell him that I told you…'it was because I wished to spare him from the indignity of witnessing my decline.’ Let him blame me, let him pity me, let him feel betrayed. Time will take the sting from it, and he will accept it as the madness of an old man. More importantly, he will be safe. Whatever discomfort this scheme may cause is nothing compared to…I will not take that risk.”

“And how do you plan to send Loki on this quest? Will you ask it of him?” Heimdall asked bluntly.

“I will plant the notion in his mind. It would be better if he considered it his own idea, at least to begin with…I don’t suppose you could lend me your eyes, Heimdall, and tell me where I left that book on the subject? It would be the ideal vessel.”

The Gatekeeper fell quiet. Odin wondered if he were searching for the ancient, misplaced tome or instead was so put-off by Odin’s scheme that he could only sit and stare at him.

Finally, the Gatekeeper said “In your study. In a locked box inside the false bottom of the furthest shelf from the door.”

“Thank you.” Odin pressed his hands to the armrests and began to stand, his knees creaking in protest. “I must speak with Thor before my sanity wanes. He will be able to enforce Loki to stay apart from me.”

“Odin…” Heimdall hesitated. Unusual for him, who always spoke his mind. “Many things have changed over the years. It is difficult to know what you know. There have been times when you could recall every breakfast you’d had that week, but not that you were no longer crowned, or even that Svartalfheim had fallen in your father’s reign.”

Odin shook his head. “This is different. I may not be truly well again, but I feel… more _whole_ than I have for some time.”

“You have felt that way before. Then sunset approaches,” Heimdall warned.

“All the more reason to see my son as soon as possible.” Odin stepped over a broken toy ball and sheets stained with glowing ink. Huginn, after one last sad croak goodbye to the fire, rejoined himself to Odin’s right shoulder.

After banking the fire, Heimdall picked up his helmet and donned it once more. He led the way out of the house, holding the door open for Odin.

The old All-Father couldn’t help but cast one last look around. To think that the tavern was capable of becoming a place like this. Warmth and childhood chaos painting over the smell of liquor, misery and violence. A place to spend a lifetime, instead of an evening.

Odin strode out. Heimdall closed the door behind him and locked the door firmly before hiding the key in the eave.

“Thor has just awoken,” Heimdall said. “You will find him in the receiving chamber of the New Royal Wing.”

Odin nodded once and marched away.

“The palace is the other way, Your Grace.”

Odin marched back again, then up the twisting street until the gleam of the palace guided him forward. Even then, he was certain he could feel the weight of Heimdall’s gaze upon him, waiting for him to wander in the wrong direction once more. Odin set his teeth against each other and walked all the faster, feigning a surety he knew did not fool the Watchman.

**ᛟ**

“I don’t know how you got this far into the palace, but if you think a rube off the street can just dance right in and see the King, you’ve been kicked in the head by too many horses, Blacksmith.”

Odin crossed his large, hairy arms. “Do you not recognize me?”

The guard guffawed. “What, did King Thor order his horse new shoes? That is not an invitation to his doorstep.” His eye flashed to something behind Odin’s shoulder. “Ah! Captain Sigfried! This is the interloper.”

Odin turned to see an older guard approaching, flanked by two younger men. He halted before them and looked at Odin thoughtfully. “All-Father?” he asked.

“I am,” Odin said, a little snappily.

Sigfried bowed his head. “Apologies, Your Grace. I’m afraid your guise was too convincing. If it were not for Huginn, I would have been utterly fooled.”

Huginn creaked from Odin’s shoulder. With a start, Odin realized that that very shoulder was not dressed in his usual cape and regalia, but was clad in a leather apron smeared with soot. He’d forgotten to remove the illusion.

He tore it off without further ado. “I am glad that some around here are paying attention.”

The first guard snapped to attention under Odin’s fierce glare. “A-All-Father. Forgive me, I did not realize this was a test -“

“Knowing it was a test would be contrary to the point of a test,” Odin said roughly.

The guard swallowed and nodded, stepping aside and dropping his gaze to Odin’s feet.

Captain Sigfried walked behind Odin, indicating to his other men that they should continue their rounds.

Captain Sigfried was not unknown to him - judging by the man’s age, deference, and easy professionalism, he had no doubt been in Odin’s service for quite some time. And yet Odin could conjure no concrete recollection of him, other than a feeling that he could trust this man.

Odin strode forward purposefully, Sigfried following silently behind him as they approached the New Royal Wing. The atrium to the New Wing was grand. Open windows and pillars framed the corridor, while works of art took up residence in alternating niches between them.

If there was a downside the grandiose hall, it was that it seemed designed to amplify and carry Thor's already booming voice. Odin had barely entered when he heard

“…seems the only way forward. I’m sure they’ll come around to our way of thinking once we…”

If Odin hadn’t been trained to disguise such expressions, he would have winced. It was not ideal for a king to be so easily overheard (unless it was convenient for him to be). But Thor had never been good at so much as an indoor voice, let alone the sort of speech that could only be heard by a close few and understood a different way by each.

A messenger came running around a corner, almost colliding with Odin. Sigfried stepped out just in time to divert the boy, who yelped an apology and rushed past.

Apparently Thor had heard him. “Who goes there?” he called out.

“Give an old man’s brittle bones time,” Odin called as he rounded the corner and set eyes on his son.

So much and so little had changed about him. He seemed taller, more muscular - or was it just that Odin had gotten smaller? His hair was more elaborate, longer and braided. He wore his ceremonial armour and yet didn’t seem weighed down at all. On the contrary, when he saw Odin, he seemed to lift, as if his very smile was pulling him upwards. Before it reached its zenith, however, it faltered.

“Father?” he asked cautiously.

“Of course I am, Thor,” Odin said.

Thor slowly approached. “Which Thor do you know me as?”

Odin’s eye twinkled. “Thor Odinson, All-Father of Asgard, Protector of the Realms and father to my grandchildren. Why, is there another one of you running around? I’m not sure I could take the strain at this age.”

Thor’s wavering smile erupted into a grin. “It is you, Father!” He clapped Odin on the shoulder. “I feel as if I haven’t seen you in years. I am sorry I haven’t visited you lately - it’s been one thing after another for the throne.”

“I will wait outside,” Sigfried excused himself, neither Odin nor Thor noticing.

Father and son began to stroll together through the large atrium, the light of morning highlighting everything with a warm glow.

Odin returned Thor’s gesture, gripping his boy’s shoulder (resisting the urge to lean on it as he did so). “I understand better than anyone why another King feels the strain upon his time.”

Thor pulled his winged helmet from his head and shook the rest of his hair loose. “For once, I have a morsel of it to spare. Is there anything in particular you wanted to speak with me about?”

Distant, fragmented memories of the dream Odin had had the night before welled up in his mind. But they could wait. “First and foremost I wanted time with my son. I am glad to see him in good spirits.”

“As I am glad to see you well, Father. There is so much I wish to share with you. I have…missed you.”

It was as if Odin had returned from a long journey, even as he knew he’d scarcely left in the palace in centuries.

Huginn spoke up. _“Huginn here too!”_

Thor chuckled. “Of course you are, Huginn. You are never far away from Father.”

 _“Say hello to Huginn too!”_ scolded the bird. _“Always forget!”_

“Hello, Huginn. I am glad to see you, too.”

Huginn bobbed his head in acknowledgement, then returned to preening his feathers contentedly.

There was a period of slightly awkward silence. Odin cleared his throat and inquired after his grandchildren and Thor’s wife.

A wistful, fond look settled on Thor’s face. “Ah…Reidrunn is still in Alfheim with the children. She quite enjoys our residence there. Her health is improving greatly in the mountain air, apparently. She plans on staying at least until the baby is born - but she’ll be back in time for the Harvest Festival.”

Odin tried to remember if Reidrunn had been prone to illness; it would not do to have a sickly wife who only rarely made appearances. The woman had been chosen in part because of her robust, strong nature - most women from Vanaheim tended to be so. But she had already born Thor many children already, and had never caused scandal or outrage. She’d well-earned a respite from the Court, especially if she was again with child. Though he wished she’d chosen somewhere other than Alfheim…it had been a great deal of time since…but still.

Thor continued. "Magni is here, though, as he must be, for his royal duties and training.”

Odin refocused. “How is my first grandchild faring? Do you think he will make a good king?”

Thor hummed. “I think the boy might be a great improvement on myself if I’m honest. He excels in all his subjects and is beloved by his tutors for his ability to recall the most obscure dates and events. The only areas of concern come from his charm teacher -“ here Thor rolled his eyes ever so slightly “- who claims he is often too shy to make enough of an impression. Which is nonsense - the boy is young! He’ll grow into his confidence soon enough, especially once he sets out for his Coming-of-Age - for which he is now preparing.”

Was it already time for the boy’s Coming-of-Age quest? Magni had always been small for his age, but surely he had not yet reached adolescence…Odin strained to recall his last memory of the boy, but all he could conjure was a feeling of fondness and occasional companionship.

So he had missed most of the boy’s childhood. Soon Magni would depart Asgard entirely, and come back nearly a man. A pang of loss hollowed Odin's chest.

Huginn squawked. He’d pulled out a feather again, the end dripping with blood. He tossed it aside irritably and returned to grooming, harshly seizing onto another pinion.

Odin seized the bird by the neck and stayed him, at first in anger. A moment later, the bird’s disorientation flowed back along their connection into Odin.

_Too much. Too much. Lost. Where? Afraid. Who is? Me. Huginn? I am?…too much…not enough…not good enough…Huginn too small…Huginn alone…not alone...who is?_

Odin’s own mind grew fuzzy around the edges. For a moment he felt as if he had been spun around and dropped into an unfamiliar room. He clung to Huginn until the feeling subsided, and both their minds clicked into place again.

“Are you alright, Father?” Thor asked, reaching out to steady him.

Odin held out a hand to stop him. _I am balanced over an abyss, and a strong wind is blowing. I must not forget that._ He sighed, releasing his joy at being reunited with his son and turning to the task at hand. The motion fell into well-oiled tracks. “I have had…a troubling premonition.”

The dream and its images were already fractured in his mind, like trying to grab at raindrops in a storm. Yet the first had remained clear all morning - the statue of the man at the beginning of the dream. Looking upon his son now, he thought the resemblance was clear.

“I believe you are a part of it. Tell me, Thor - what has become of Jötunheim? Much time has passed since the war - has it recovered?”

“It is as well as a realm of cold and darkness can be expected to be,” Thor said slowly, a little confused. "The people have their struggles, and no doubt many wish for better, but we try to make up the difference where we can. There are many shipments of food, lumber, fuel, and building supplies from Vanaheim. It has actually been quite beneficial to Asgard’s economy. There is little room on Asgard to create new things, but there our craftspeople have found good trade. They come home with stories about the resilience of those brave enough to live in such a harsh place, but I do hope that through our efforts we can make it less so. One shouldn’t need to be brave just to live in one’s home.”

As Thor went on to describe the rebuilding and efforts to better connect the infrastructure of the two realms, relief washed down Odin’s body. Huginn cocked his head quizzically and whispered into Odin’s ear. _“Odin happy because plan not needed?”_

 _Which plan?_ Odin thought back to the bird. There were always many plans, in the days when he could keep track of the multiple branches. It would appear one such plan was indeed superfluous. Not long after Thor’s coronation, he had intended that the new king should begin with rebuilding from the wars of the old - particularly in Jötunheim. After a period of darkness, light and hope would have been rekindled. Thor had been gifted with a hammer, after all - a tool to build, as well as destroy. ‘Thor the Builder’ had a ring to it - certainly, it was a better name than many Odin had earned. There was too much bad blood between him and the giants. But with Thor…perhaps the Nine could be better united.

But if the giants had not been receptive…if they had regained their powers, built a new Casket, intended to expand their territory into peaceful realms with death and bloodshed once more…well, there were other plans.

 _Loki plans?_ Huginn thought to Odin.

Odin didn’t respond. The raven would know anyway.

 _Easy, it could have been,_ Huginn thought. _Odin, Father of two kings. If Jötunheim threaten new King Thor…easy to fix. Loki never hurt Thor. Thor not hurt Loki. Both realms safe._

_But Odin decide to keep Loki close, with Thor - better together. Neither good enough alone to be king. Thor sit in throne, Loki stand behind. Keep each other in check. Keep Asgard safe. Jötunheim too weak to threaten anyway._

_Odin never close door on possibility, though…_

Odin had to turn his head to glare at the bird with his one eye. _Those possibilities no longer matter,_ he thought sternly.

Huginn tossed his head, puffing up his feathers. _Odin say one thing…_

 _Be quiet, bird,_ Odin commanded.

The raven looked away, unperturbed. _Huginn only thinking to himself._

It really was impossible to have an argument with a creature who shared your mind.

“-all in all, we have high hopes that a hundred lodge-houses will finish construction before winter. Well, it’s nearly always winter there - Deeper Winter? More Winter? Winter tenfold?” Thor shrugged. “In any case, it is a better place to live than it would have been.”

“Thor…you have achieved what I never could,” Odin said, his chest warming with pride. “What you have done…it is no easy thing, but it will keep the peace better than endless war ever could.”

Thor stood a little taller. “Thank you, Father. That means more to me than you could know.”

Odin’s thoughts drifted to the Vault. “Was the Casket ever returned?” he inquired. “If it is now safe…it belongs there.”

“On occasion. It is a great tool for rebuilding - it can form mountains in moments!” Thor’s eyes sparkled with the memory of it. Although he claimed to have little admiration for illusions and smaller kinds of magic, he’d always found command of the elements enthralling - which was to be expected, given his own thunderous talent. "Yet I dare not leave it there. There are enemies who would steal it and use it as a weapon again. Defences are stronger here, and so we guard it when not in use. Jötunheim has gotten along without it for centuries, after all.”

“Not unwise, my son. And yet arrangements for its permanent return should be made at some point - the realm would suffer if it were to forever be sealed away from it.”

Huginn’s croaking thoughts interrupted into Odin’s mind again. _Plan was to send with Loki, make hero, make welcome. Plans no longer matter, but Odin kept Casket, oh yes._

“Then I shall see to it that Jötunheim’s rebuilding continues until such a time as it can be safe housing for her heart once more!” Thor agreed enthusiastically. “Is that all?”

Odin thought again of his dream - of the endless pit, and the giants that fell into it, one after another. All except for the last.

“Perhaps it would be best if I speak to an elder of Jötunheim,” Odin decided. “Someone who knows the realm deeply.”

Thor seemed glad that the solution was so simple. “I’ll send a message along to Lord Frey - he can be here in less than a day.”

“Lord Frey?” Odin asked quizzically. Huginn fluttered his feathers, and an old memory of a boy with a fascination for giants came to mind. His twin sister had preferred the elves, but for Frey, everything was giants. How tall could they grow? What did they eat? What stories did they tell? Between wars, he was a most enthusiastic envoy to Jötunheim. Such odd proclivities did not come without cost - the crueller tongues of the court had begun rumours that he was overly fond of a giantess called Gerda. Those words were forgotten when his expertise in Jötunheim’s terrain made all the difference in the final war with Laufey. He was celebrated as a hero, but a sadness lived in his eyes thereafter.

“It gladdens my heart to hear that Frey was able to return to Jötunheim - he always had an affinity for the realm.”

“Too much so, at times,” Thor said exasperatedly. “The man causes all sorts of problems. He defends ruins, claiming they are ‘culturally significant’ and refuses to tear them down to build new structures. Sometimes I think he’d rather see ghosts housed more comfortably than people of flesh and blood!”

Odin chuckled. Frey had indeed been utterly devoted to the ancient history of Jötunheim and could hold year-long conversations about a crumbled foundation or nub of unassuming stone. “He is right to defend evidence of history, though not at the expense of the future.”

Odin noticed that their walk was taking them into a cavernous hallway, decorated with various artworks illuminating Asgard’s past. Thor had always had a fondness for depictions of adventure and victory. Odin himself had commissioned many of these pieces to be displayed around the capital. He wondered why they had been gathered here - perhaps Thor was fond of them, or else had replaced them with newer pieces of his own adventures and wished to keep them here for nostalgic reasons.

“I suppose,” sighed Thor. “If you could wait, he really would be best to speak with. There is no greater expert on Jötunheim and her affairs.”

“I would think a jötunn might know a thing or two more,” Odin observed dryly. “I would be happy to speak with Frey when he is able. But for now, I believe it best if I speak with an elder of the Jötnar themselves. He may not be glad to see me after our history, but I'd parlay with Laufey.”

Thor stopped walking, that now-familiar look of worry creasing his brow again. "That will be impossible, Father. Laufey-king died in battle over a thousand years ago. Lord Frey reigns in Jötunheim now, though only the hardiest of Asgardians have chosen to settle there with him. Even without any giants, it is hardly hospitable.”

Odin felt as if they hadn’t merely stopped, but walked right into a wall. “Without…giants?” he repeated.

Thor looked crestfallen. “You don’t remember? It was one of my - Asgard’s greatest triumphs.” He sighed. “Well, after they tried to take Alfheim, breaking your treaty, it was agreed something more had to be done. How many wars had to be waged, how many lives lost, until it became clear that peace would never be a permanent state, but merely an interval before the next conflict? And the next, and the next. It was decided that the Jötnar could no longer be trusted with a realm of their own.”

Odin stared at Thor. As he did so, he became aware of the background his son stood against: A tapestry of bold reds and blues.

“It was a most glorious battle,” Thor said enthusiastically. “I myself led the vanguard. The might of Asgard was so great that even the very city of Utgard crumbled to the ground!”

The blue was the Jötnar. The red was the Asgardians. Thousands of figures made up the piece, all engaged in brutal combat. As Odin's eye followed them up to the top, however, it became clear which side was winning.

Thor’s eyes were bright, though he stood in shadows. “It was everything you’d ever told in your stories, Father. I didn’t let you down. I was ready.”

At the top of the tapestry was a depiction of Thor, his hammer raised, his form silhouetted by lightning. Around him were the ruins of a city and cheering soldiers holding their spears aloft in victory.

Steps echoed down the corridors. Another messenger careened to a stop in front of them, panting. “Your Grace! The Queega have surrendered the moon already! They are withdrawing to their capital, as predicted. General Tyr needs you at the front as soon as possible - the first charge will be within the hour!”

Thor’s grin was brighter even than his eyes. “I will be there at once! We will be Thirteen Realms by day’s end with me on the battlefield.”

The messenger scurried away again. Thor’s grin dimmed as he observed Odin’s stricken face.

“Oh, worry not, Father. I will be fine. I always am. Although I am sorry to be leaving you, when we’d only just begun to speak…” He clapped Odin on the back again. “I know. I’ll send a quartermaster to Knowhere for you. That Collector man likely has a jötunn or two squirrelled away - you can speak with one of them. In the meantime, find Loki to keep you company! His silver tongue will be of little use today!”

Thor departed, his echoing chuckle joining the distant clinking armour marching in step. Odin knew it well - a contingent of soldiers had arrived to escort their king to battle.

It faded away again, leaving Odin alone with only his thoughts and the tapestry for company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that one of Loki's many names was Loki Skywalker? Lok...i Skywalker. Huh. Makes me wonder. That said, Odin is the one reputed to have control over the wind in some stories, which makes sense for an archetypical Sky-god. So I gave him this ability, as it makes sense thematically for him to have it in more ways than one, but it also explains how a fragile old man can get around so easily. (Hey, maybe it even explains how he got to the Bifrost so fast in Thor 1, from a sleeping start no less). Apologies for making y'all think I had him jump out a window to his death, though! Ha ha. Not so easy with this tricky fox. 
> 
> Thanks again to my friend JaggedCliffs for her Beta work on this and forthcoming chapters. (Yes, several are coming). 
> 
> I hope I can give you all respite from this outbreak of disease and the separation and loneliness it has caused with...this story about disease, loneliness, and separation. Hmm. 
> 
> As I always, I deeply value your comments and interactions. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this! 
> 
> Oh, and for those concerned, worry not. I love Thor very much as a character, and if I'm honest he's the character I'm most like (which does mean that I'm harder on him than most, though). I have no interest in turning him into a caricature. Rest assured I've every intention to let him have his moments in this series, both with Odin and Loki and on his own terms.


	5. The Drowned Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a dream that doesn't belong to him; when he wakes, things don't improve.

**LOKI**

* * *

_The Garden was a beautiful place._

_Od might have been able to appreciate it more if he wasn’t always in trouble when he was brought there._

_As usual, King Bor was on his knees in the dirt, tending a row of shrubs he’d gotten from some far-distant star. He didn’t pause in his inspection of their leaves, even as his other children began to speak._

_Gefjun, as usual, was the first to chime in. “He’s fine, Dad - he’d only gone to Library, he probably just got lost in there, he was just being silly, he knows better now -“_

_Cul cut in smoothly, his words slower and more thoughtful, but no less defensive.”He just fell asleep while reading, he didn’t mean to cause so much fuss.”_

_Od's hand was starting to go numb in his mother’s grip. When he tried to pry himself free, it only tightened. He winced, but made no sound._

_“Gefjun, Cul,” Bor interrupted gently. “Odin is the one I am waiting to hear speak; he can hardly even try if you’re always doing it for him.”_

_Gefjun crossed her arms, affronted. “He likes it that way, don’t you, Od?”_

_“Od does talk sometimes, Father, just not around strangers,” Cul added._

_Bor plucked a yellow leaf off its stem and stowed it in a rubbish bag. “As his father, I should hope I am not a stranger.”_

_Od’s throat tightened; his heart beat a little louder. He hoped none of them could hear it._

_Gefjun, for once, seemed to want to be helpful. “He wouldn’t have run away in the first place if Professor Gunnarson didn’t push him so hard! Od doesn’t need to talk, we know what he means -“_

_“Enough from the both of you,” Bor said curtly. “You are good siblings to cover for him, but this is between Odin and I. He will either choose to speak or keep silent for himself. The two of you - return to your lessons.”_

_Gefjun was unused to being told to do anything by her father. She huffed and turned to go, flicking Od in the face with her mane of curly red hair - a small revenge in exchange for speaking kindly about her annoying little brother._

_Cul lingered, hesitating. Eventually he bowed and, in the privacy of the curtain his long dark hair provided, whispered to Od. “It’ll be alright. I understand.” He squeezed his brother’s shoulder quickly, and then he, too, swept out of the Garden._

_“Bestla,” Bor said quietly. “It’s alright now. He’s safe with me. Go rest.”_

_At first, Od thought his mother would refuse. Her hand tightened on Od's again before she let it drop. Od shook it in relief as pins and needles prickled through his veins again._

_“Aren’t you going to apologize to your mother, boy?” Bor said._

_Od stared at his shoes._ _He tried to swallow, but his throat had gone rigid._

_His mother stroked his hair. Then she was gone, too._

_Bor sighed and straightened up. “Come with me.”_

_The king stood and walked away from the shrubs. Od stumbled behind him, but not too closely. He wasn’t looking forward to whatever punishment his father had in mind._

_They came to an unsculpted, wild place that had not yet been tamed for the Garden. Bor inhaled deeply, centring himself. He planted his hands in the ground with a grunt. A shockwave emanated outwards, turning the earth over and revealing deep seams of dark soil and sending birds bursting from the trees and into the sky. Bor straightened up, rubbing an arm over his mouth as he did so and groaning a little too theatrically. Quickly, he reached into his apron pocket, beckoning Od to come over._

_The boy cupped his hands and received a shower of the seeds._

_“There are several kinds of seeds in here,” Bor said as he moved them about in Od's palm with a finger. “Some will become roses, the centrepiece of this bed. But beneath them will grow garlic, Twisted-Noses, and Ghost-in-a-Mist.”_

Garlic? _Od made a face._

_Bor noted it. “Garlic will keep away pests that would otherwise love to eat the roses. The Twisted-Noses are the favourite habitat of spiders, which will catch whatever pests can withstand the garlic. They also return nutrients to the soil. While the roses may seem the most important, there are many other roles that must be done so they can prosper. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”_

_Od persisted in his silence._

_“Your mother didn’t sleep the entire time you were missing,” Bor continued. “She turned Asgard upside down looking for you. It is her role to look after you."_

But you didn’t. You just gardened, _Od thought to himself._ Was it not your role to care?

_Bor threw a handful of seeds into the furrow. “You have a role in this family too, boy. A place. And duties with it. No matter how far you run, that doesn’t change.” He fixed Od with a piercing blue stare. “Where did you really go?”_

_Od threw his seeds. He missed the furrow._

_"Gefjun said you were found in the Library. But that’s just where you went when you decided you wanted to be found, isn’t it?” Bor tapped the side of his nose, leaving an earthy smudge. “I knew you would decide to come back soon. Better to wait you out than to chase you down. You always come back. When you’re ready.”_

_Od held out his hands. Bor refilled them with seeds._

_“Just as I’m sure you’ll start talking. When you’re ready.” Bor demonstrated his throw again. “Like this, Son.”_

_Od tried again. This time it only mostly missed the furrow._

_“Take your time. You’ll get it right soon.”_

_They walked across the freshly tilled earth, sowing the seeds. As they went, Bor started to hum. Before long, he’d started to clap his hands and stomp and beat. Before long, he was singing._

"Hearing, I ask, from the ho-o-ly races

From Norn’s eyes, watching high and low

I will soon relate, to this tree of faces

Old tales remembered from long, long ago…”

_Od stared at him. Bor’s beard stretched into a little grin._

_“Catchy, isn’t it?” he remarked before continuing._

"The serpent is bright, but now I must sink

My father of yester is leading me home

The sky becomes light, no more must I think

of old tales remembered from long, long ago.

It didn’t seem till now, so long, long ago.”

_When he finished the song, Bor merely began again. And again. And again. The tune became lodged in Od’s head, turning round and round again. It took him awhile to notice he was humming. The moment he did, he slapped his hands to his mouth._

_“It’s alright, Od. It’s just humming; it doesn’t count as talking at all,” Bor said. “If you like, you can just mouth the words - you don’t have to sing along. But if you do, I’m so loud I’d never hear you.” To demonstrate, he sang the next bar with his mouth as wide as possible, his eyes comically bugging out as he practically shouted the words._

_Od kept his hands over his mouth to hide his smile, but Bor seemed to see it anyway. His eyes crinkled warmly._

"Lead me home, my mothers of yester

Lead me to my heart and its way

Free me from a body that festers

Free me from the urge to yet stay…”

_Od whispered the words behind his hand, compelled by the repetition, carried along by the tune._

Take me from this o-ode to slaughter

Take me from Hel, though I may belong

Lead me to my sons and my daughters

Lead me home to the heart of my s-s-sskk…”

_Suddenly Bor broke off, coughing so violently he fell into the dirt. It startled Od, who stepped backwards, crushing the seeds under his foot._

_The coughing didn’t stop. It only worsened. His father fumbled about in his pocket for his flask, but the trickle remaining in it was not enough._

_Od ran. He knew the plant. The plant that made his father better, if only for a time. The fruit glowed, and had to be unscrewed from its stem. Od didn’t take the time, instead pulling stalks loose as he grabbed as many as he could before running back to his father._

_Bor took them with shaking hands, along with Od’s flask of water. He crushed the fruit into it and drank the whole thing in a single swallow. Slowly, the coughing faded._

_“Well done, Son,” Bor gasped, his breath still short._

_Od offered his hand to help Bor up._

_Bor, however, was frowning down into his own hand, at the tangled vines that had previously held the fruit. “This isn’t from a Bright Bulb,” he muttered, pulling loose a small, blue flower from the mess._

_Without so much as glancing at Od’s hand, he stood up again and walked hurriedly to the medicinal patch. Od ran after him, suddenly having to run to even stay within sight of his father. When he caught up again, Bor was examining more little blue flowers growing around the bulbs._

_“A Turglian Rotbreath,” he said dispassionately. “There must have been spores on the Bright Bulbs.” He gripped a blossom at the base of its stem and tore, revealing long, black roots five times as long as the plant had been tall._

_"If I hadn’t found this, it would have reached its secondary bloom and poisoned the air as well.” He shoved it into a pocket on his apron with a growl. “That’s the rest of the week gone, searching for the rest of its spawn,” he muttered. “This garden, like Yggdrasil herself, exists in a delicate balance. Many things would disrupt that order - and it is we, the gardeners, who must keep it. That is all our role. We must be careful of what we plant, and weed out invaders before they choke the fruit of our labour.” He looked at Od. "Do you understand, boy?”_

_A crash from the trees. An out-of-breath messenger burst into the clearing. “Your Majesty!” he cried. “A hundred soldiers are dead! An attack on the Western Border- it’s Svartalfheim!”_

_Od watched his father’s expression shift from paternal affection into something hard and cold. It made his insides squirm, though he knew the look wasn’t meant for him._

_“So it begins,” Bor breathed. Before Od could react, he pulled his son into a tight embrace. “I will take care of this,” he promised as his gardening clothes disappeared beneath the glow of forming armour. “Look after my garden, Son.”_

_He strode away. Od watched him, suddenly stricken. He tried to call out, to ask Bor to wait - but his voice stayed locked in his chest. He took a step to follow - and fell. He glanced down at his legs. They were tangled in vines. Vines full of blooming blue flowers, larger than before. He tried to pull them loose, but they only grew faster. Screams for help curdled in his chest as he yanked and tore at the Rotbreaths. As he struggled, the roots tore from the ground - but still yet more flowers were reaching for him._

_He ran. His legs were still tangled in vines, but he ran._

Father! _he wanted to call._ Father, help me -

_But how could Bor come when he could not hear him?_

Father -

_A branch caught him across the chest. He stumbled, falling to one side -_

_Splash._

_He was sinking. Water was all around him. He had to swim but -_

_The vines. The vines were stitching his limbs together, binding him._

_His mouth opened in a silent scream, water rushing in to fill his empty lungs -_

ᚲ

Loki coughed, spitting up water, splashing as he got up on his hands and knees. He stared at his rippling reflection in confusion. What had…he looked around the room. It was empty.

“Father?” he croaked.

Silence.

Still groggy, he reached behind him for the bed he must have fallen out of. It was sopping wet, too, as was the sheet tangled about his legs. The whole room looked like it had recently weathered an indoor monsoon.

Loki really should have been more distressed about that, but his mind felt too foggy and heavy. Something wasn’t right…it was as if he’d been enchanted into sleep...

He brushed his fingertips against his skull, trying to feel for any residue of a casting. There was… _something…_ a buzzing of sorts. It did not feel like foreign magic…but neither was it quite his own.

“Father?” he called again, alarm starting to cut through the haze. He sloshed to the bathroom next door, but it too was empty. He checked the hallway, the receiving room, the study - all empty.

Which left nothing but the open window Loki had hastily secured yesterday. It took only a glance to realize the spell had been dissipated. He wondered how he’d not noticed the breeze.

Odin was loose. Again.

Loki quickly removed his sopping clothes, using a damp towel from Odin’s wardrobe to dry himself before calling a new outfit onto himself. Even that minuscule amount of lost time was too much - who knew what Odin could have gotten up to during it?

He threw open the door to the royal suites with a bang, startling the man who’d been about to knock.

Loki blinked. “Captain Sigfried?”

The man recovered quickly. “Your Highness - I bring news.”

“As do I. My father has run off again. I will require the services of a few discreet men - ”

“Apologies, Highness, but I don’t think that will be necessary. Odin is with King Thor in the New Royal Wing.”

Loki stared. “How…I see. So…all is well?”

“He seemed glad to see his son, Your Grace. When I left, they were conversing.”

Loki nodded, but his eyebrows furrowed. _How normal can he be if he just soaked an entire room with a year’s worth of rain and then left me there? Did he need to speak to Thor that urgently?_

Sigfried continued. “As far as ‘all’ being well is concerned, however…you know I am merely Captain of the Palace Guard, and therefore not a part of Asgard’s military, and so I am in no position to speak of its movements. However, I thought you should be made aware of…certain developments.”

Loki sighed. He did so hate being caught up in the rivalry between the palace guard and the Einherjar. “What now?”

“King Thor has requested several of my men to go with him to the front. I know he is fond of them, but we are stretched quite thin as it is with the new patrols. They have also not been trained to perform on the terrain of Queeg, and I fear they would be of little use to the King in this war anyway. I wondered if you might speak on our behalf and convince him -“

“Thor declared war on Queeg?” Loki interrupted. “No…no, I told him that was _not_ the best strategy…does he not realize that we court the ire of the Andromedian Confederation? Where is he - I must speak to him at once!”

Captain Sigfried seemed surprised that Loki was surprised. “He will be taking a contingent of men to the Bifröst soon, I expect.”

Loki strode down the hallway, leaving Sigfried to stare at the wet bootprints he left behind.

ᚲ

“I thought you were _joking_ when you said you’d start a war if you got bored! Slow down - we need to discuss this!”

Thor marched on, eyes fixed on the rapidly approaching main doors to the palace. “War is never a laughing matter, Brother. And it is past the point of discussion - I thought you looked to be as sick of it as I was yesterday.”

“So you thought to spice things up with a bit of _smashing_? Negotiations are meant to keep us from actual conflict -“

“You would have preferred to continue to treat those lizards as equals?” laughed Thor.

“I would have continued my work to ensure they would not have been our enemies! We are already stretched thin with the inevitable war with the Shi’ar - can’t you _see_ how important it is that we use _diplomacy_ to -“

Thor shook his head like a brunmigi bothered by a fly. “Why bother pretending anymore? The plan was always war. It is simpler to just take what we need.”

Loki was walking out of step with the Einherjar, forced to scurry around pillars to keep up with their pace. “What do you mean, that was always the plan? This is the first I’m hearing of it!”

“That’s because it was my plan. Not everything has to go according to _your_ plan, Loki.”

“My _plan_ is to keep us all safe! Already there are mutters around the galaxy of the Asgardian Empire stretching too far, too quickly - we will find a thousand planets arranged against us if we continue in this way! You must reign in this _idiotic barbarity -“_

Thor suddenly stopped, standing in the doorway that exited the palace. The Einherjar clanked to a standstill behind him.

Loki stumbled to a stop alongside them, flushing a little red. It wasn’t like him to have insulted his brother aloud - that wasn’t helpful, he _knew_ that, it was better to go along with Thor, to agree, to slowly imply Loki’s ideas as his own - that was the way. But he’d been too angry, too flustered…he was off his game.

“I…I apologize, Brother - I should not have spoken so -“

Thor interrupted, a cold smile frozen on his face. “Did you know that they confirmed the gender of my unborn child today? It is another boy.”

“Oh…congratulations, Brother, that is excellent news. Should we not delay this conflict to celebrate -“

“Do you know what that makes you, Loki? It makes you Fourth Prince. Fourth in line. And if I sign that document adding women to the succession Mother and Sif were so adamant about a few centuries ago, you will be eighth in line.”

Loki stared at Thor, mouth agape. “I hardly see how that’s relevant - “

“Mother and Father insisted on you as my advisor, and you have served well. But counsel is asked for and followed at the whim of the one counselled. It is certainly not shouted at the King as he makes his way to command his armies.” Thor extended an arm and grabbed Loki’s shoulder, in a way that had before seemed brotherly but now felt like a vice.

"Do you know what you are, Little Brother?” Thor said softly, dangerously.

Loki tried to speak, to say _Yes, of course I know what I am, I am the only one who seems to think sense in this family anymore -_ but the words didn’t come.

Thor continued. “Because of late, I think _you_ think yourself a shadow king. But you’re not. You’re Loki. Just Loki. I am your King before I am your brother. Know your place.”

Just like that, he warmly patted Loki’s back and walked down the steps of the palace, the Einherjar immediately matching his pace.

Loki watched them march to the Bifröst Station, a shining river of metal blotting out the Rainbow Bridge.

 _Father can still stop this madness,_ he thought. _In this, he will side with me._

A breeze tossed his hair and caressed his skin. A queer tingle followed. Irritated, Loki scratched at his hand.

The itch only seemed to spread.

**ODIN**

* * *

A piece of bread hit his head, followed by a hat and a warm pair of gloves.

“ _Eat, Odin,”_ Huginn commanded. _“Long journeys need fuel.”_

Odin picked the piece of bread out of his hair and stared at it without much appetite. “When did you get so caring? Muninn was usually the one to remind me of such things.”

 _“Huginn must be two ravens now."_ Huginn landed on his shoulder and helped pull the furry hat down around his ears. _“Since Huginn do work of two ravens, Odin maybe feed Huginn like two ravens?”_

“You’re already so old you can barely fly, bird. Do you want to weigh as much as two ravens on top of that?”

Huginn huffed and clacked his beak. Odin broke the bread in half anyway and gave a share to Huginn. They ate together, bite for bite. When they finished, Odin still lingered, staring at the tapestry he’d been unable to leave.

 _“What taking so long?”_ Huginn asked impatiently. _“Open door.”_

“It’s not as easy as it used to be,” Odin grumbled. “Let me prepare.”

_“Silly. Opening door is not problem. Problem is Odin afraid to see other side.”_

Suddenly, a familiar voice, faintly heard down the hall. “Is my father still here?”

 _“Loki,”_ warned Huginn. _“If see, will try to stop us."_

Odin delayed no longer.

Reaching out for Yggdrasil was easier than raising his own withered hand. Always, he could feel it - like a strumming, a constant vibration joining everything into one, united vibration. Ever since his hanging, he’d learned to sing along. He grasped one single thread, following it instantly to one lightyears away. It was tied to the last place he’d been on Jötunheim - the Temple of Utgard. He joined the threads.

The energy of a thousand suns blazed in his hands. The air rippled, caving in on itself as it tore the universe open, revealing the seam Odin would travel down.

The massive doors were creaking open. Odin had less than a minute before Loki and the guards rounded the corner.

The hole in reality was sucking in air, pulling at Huginn’s feathers and his hair, at the tapestry and frames on the wall. He continued to anchor it, assuring that the thread became a branch thick enough to walk down.

Clear footsteps. “Father? Where are you? I need to speak with you…what is that _racket?”_

Odin stepped through the portal, not so much as glancing behind him as it shut.

**LOKI**

* * *

He rounded the corner as fast as he could while still maintaining decorum. All there was to be seen was a painting swinging on the wall and a tapestry depicting the conclusion of the Final Jötunheim War fluttering back into place.

Loki glanced at the nearest window. Had some random breeze disturbed them? Or had the origins been his father’s particular talent?

“Father?” he called again.

Silence.

He found himself studying the tapestry again. As ever, Thor had forgotten to include a clear representation of those who had helped achieve victory besides his handsome self. By rights, Loki should be there at the top with him, even if his role in their triumph had been less flashy. Not that it mattered; that war was already an old one.

He turned his back on it with a huff, walking deeper into the apartments, still calling for Odin.

No-one answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, back so soon. What can I say, it's just too fun to hear from y'all. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking through that long flashback full of characters you'd never heard of before. But hey, this is a story about memory, be prepared for some memories. 
> 
> I've thought Bor was potentially really interesting for awhile. I'm happy to have a chance to have a few scenes with him. 
> 
> As for Odin's siblings, my Cul is a very different take than the one in the comics, but I liked the idea and look of him. Gef/Gefjun is borrowed from an unrelated goddess to Odin, but she is related to agriculture, something that will be vaguely important later.
> 
> EDIT: The horror when, months later, you realized you uploaded AN OLD DRAFT as the submitted chapter and not the one your Beta helped you with (head slap). This has been updated but the changes are mostly small.


	6. Stare into Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin and Huginn go for a walk to Jotunheim.

**ODIN**

* * *

Walking the World-Tree was nothing like the roar and force of the Bifröst. Where that was full of sound and fury, Yggdrasil by foot (if it could be called ‘by foot’, for each step took Odin untold distances across space) was as silent as space itself. Which is to say, it was not truly silent to Odin - he could feel the vibrations of every celestial body that made up the trunk and branches of the universe. Each had a signature note, building into the song that was Yggdrasil itself. A song even Odin could not fully know, for most of it was beyond perception. Yet he at least recognized the frequency of Jötunheim. He pulled himself along towards it, planets and stars streaming past him like ribbons in water.

To the incautious, it would seem peaceful. Odin knew better. This was a balancing act - one wrong step and he’d fall out of the Tree and into the in-between, the void between worlds. Some called it the Ginnungagap - an endless, seeping well of chaos from which all existence had been birthed. New and terrible monsters still crept out of its depths, as did other twisted new creations. It was both nothing and nowhere while being everything and everywhere.

And yet most mages learned to tame some small part of it early when they created their personal pocket dimensions. The Ginnungagap was a terrifying sump of madness - using its awesome power should not be done lightly. But that was mages for you; give them a well of infinite and dangerous creation, and they’d see a convenient place to keep their spare knickers.

He felt the perception of a larger consciousness brush against his and Huginn’s. Before the thing could realize what and where he was, not to mention his potential edibility, Odin moved forward another hundred thousand lightyears. It slipped away again, still trapped somewhere between Yggdrasil, The Ginnungagap and the physical world.

Something else was plucking at him now - the welcome pull of gravity. He let it pull him forward and down, down, down - Sound. The crunch of boots on snow, so harsh a noise as to make his ears ring.

He blinked. Snowflakes gathered on his eyelashes, and he was forced to blink again.

He was surrounded by creatures, glassy of wing and shocked of expression. With a synchronized cry, they burst into the air, their wings catching the red of the sunset and reflecting it a thousandfold. Odin watched them disappear into the night-darkening sky. Huginn sneezed in dismissal.

 _Advarsels._ Native only to Jötunheim.

He’d arrived at the correct planet, at least…but he must have overshot Utgard. This was a desolate wasteland, when he’d meant to land in the heart of the city. Utgard was legendarily built from the bones of Ymir himself. The buildings were as tall as mountains, and the temple perhaps tallest of all.

Yet when Odin looked out, he could see nothing but flat, white snow, broken by divots and holes and the occasional pile of stones. Then his eye caught a familiar symbol, etched into one broken wall. Angrboda’s Mark. The only place that should have that design was the Ancient Library of Angrboda. There was only one such building, and it had been across from the Temple, in the very heart of Utgard…

Huginn whistled in astonishment. He had already turned around.

Odin looked behind him.

The Temple had been cut in half and tilted to an alarming angle. The topmost part, where he had found the babe all those years ago, was gone without a trace. But even with only the foundations and middle section remaining, it was still the only building left. Numbly, Odin approached, entering through the barren archway as he had millennia ago. He could almost believe he was back in that memory - if it weren’t for the cracked and broken stairs, the empty plinths where there had once been magnificent ice sculptures, and the heavy, empty silence.

Even if the stairs hadn’t been partially destroyed, they were giant steps and unsuitable for Odin. He was forced to skywalk on the air above them. Despite a pang of fatigue from the magical exertion, it was easier than this morning. The stiffness seemed to be fading from his limbs.

The new top floor had the remains of sheared pillars, a view of the wasteland that surrounded him, and, in its centre, the unmistakable stamp of the Bifröst, partially filled in with snow.

_“O~odin…look…”_

The All-Father looked at Huginn, whose gaze was fixed towards the far edge. Odin walked carefully over the icy stone, then leaned over the lip of the temple and stared down into its shadow.

It was darker than a shadow on snow should be. It was a tear in reality, a hole carved clean through reality. Even from up here, Odin could feel the pull of its sucking breath, see the endless churning of its depths, the hunger that pulled all matter towards its crushing oblivion. He took an involuntary step backwards.

 _“Wrong,”_ whispered Huginn. _“Very wrong.”_

Was this where the city had gone? Gobbled up by this aberration?

Huginn hopped to Odin’s other shoulder, beady eyes studying the ruins. _“Look! Tracks. City not eaten - city taken.”_

Odin soon saw what he meant. Scattered at the edges of the city were long parallel markings, crisscrossed with the dotted lines of Asgardian tracks. They trailed away into the gathering gloom of Jötunheim’s oncoming night. As he and Huginn watched the most distant edge of the horizon, a scattering of lights winked on.

“A city isn’t just buildings, bird,” Odin remarked. He cast his eyes back into the monstrous gash. It was gnawing at the edges of itself, but there was still evidence of industry left intact. Numerous Asgardian tracks, scuffs and scores from large objects being pushed and pulled, an enormous stone hand broken at the wrist, buried under snow.

 _“No point in staring now, Odin. All past, long ago.”_ Huginn pointed his beak back towards the lights igniting in the face of the coming night. _“Always move forward.”_

Odin lingered a little longer, still wondering just where the darkness went.

Huginn tugged at his earlobe. _“Odin always say let go of past. Cannot move forward into future if carrying such weight.”_

Odin relented. Turning his back on the abyss, he walked towards the opposite edge of the segmented temple, and then off it into plain air.

He marched across the deepening blue of the sky, soon leaving the remnants of Utgard far behind. The way was quiet and still. Huginn grew distracted, flying away for longer and longer times, searching for something to interest him. Finally, he failed to come back at all.

 _When had winter fallen on Asgard?_ Odin wondered idly. _These old bones shouldn’t be out for long in the cold._ How long had he been walking, anyway? It was good to get away from it all, as was his habit, but he couldn’t seem to recall just when he had left. Frigga did so hate it when he just vanished without warning her…

Lights. Many of them, just below. He could stop at this little hamlet and send word back to her. As he descended, he admired the structures that appeared to be under construction. It reminded him of how Asgard used to look, in the days it had been made of stone instead of gold - which wasn’t to say it lacked colour. Indeed, there were artists hard at work painting the dwellings in bright reds and greens and yellows, making them burn against their snowy surroundings. A mason hard at work on a decorative carving of a lightning bolt was the first to look up at notice the old man descending from the clouds. He pointed and shouted “All-Father!”

Doors opened, voices rose, and soon a stream of others were gathering below Odin, awaiting his arrival. Only one man still had his back to him, and as Odin approached he could hear his bellowing.

“I told you not to take it from that section of the library! It’s _historical!_ Has your hammering caused you to go deaf, man? Where are you going, I am speaking to you -“ he whirled around. His eyes went wide as he took Odin in. “A-All-Father! What a surprise. Why are you here, old friend?”

Odin frowned at the man. Friend? Yes, his face…he knew that face. There was still something clouding his thoughts, blurring it from his mind’s eye. He must be careful not to reveal he had forgotten this man; that would be very rude. “Indeed,” Odin said confidently. “It has been too long. How goes, old friend?”

"I admit I would be better without the scare of you coming out of the sky unannounced!” laughed the man, striding forward as Odin touched down on the snow. By his dress and demeanour, he appeared to be a lord.

“I have not come for long,” Odin hesitated. Why had he come at all? It had slipped his grasp. “I…merely wanted to check-in.”

The other men and women who had gathered gave a great cheer and spoke all at once.

“There’s so much space, we can scarce believe it! My dog Yanna ran away, and it took her three days!”

“S’bit cold, but Bandabjørn dung burns bright enough!”

“All is well enough, All-Father -“ the lord began.

“Well? I think you mean 'well, it could be better!'” grumbled one man in the back, wearing so much fur as to appear like an obese bear. “My house still has no roof, and the king has just cancelled our shipments of wood to build his siege weapons!”

The crowd started to mutter in discontent.

“Could you not speak to Thor, Your Grace?” said an older woman. “I know the wars are important, but we are in a war of our own against the cold!”

Odin was suddenly trapped. They were yelling at him, yelling and demanding and he did not know what they were talking about, what he was meant to _do,_ but he couldn't let them know that he did not know, he must try and pretend, to pick up on some hint of what the proper thing to say was -

“How dare you speak to the All-Father like that?” barked the lord suddenly, turning to glare at the crowd.

The people hushed, suddenly chagrined.

Odin recovered. “Indeed,” he growled. “I have heard your supplications, and will see what might be done. But I have faith in my Asgardian fellows - you will conquer this land yet, for have we not defeated enemies far more heinous than mere temperature? Continue your preparations, and soon it will be as forgotten as all the rest who dared challenged us!”

The crowd cheered once more before dispersing back to their previous occupations, leaving Odin alone with the unknown lord. Odin decided it was best to move on before the lord or the crowd confronted him again. He stepped forward -

“Wait, Your Majesty -“ the lord reached for him, but too late. Odin stepped onto a patch of ice disguised by newly fallen snow. The world tilted suddenly, becoming only a view of the sky -

It would have certainly been a painful fall, if not for the lord throwing himself beneath Odin. A gasp of air was driven out of the man as the king’s skull bounced against his stomach.

Odin looked up. From this angle, he could see…but the face was far older. Was it only the frost in his beard? “Frödor?” he asked.

“Frödor was my grandfather, though you have often said I look just like him,” the lord groaned.

“You can’t be…you can’t be little Frey?” Odin said, perplexed.

“It’s been very, very long since I was little. But I am he.”

A squawk from above. Huginn swept in, landing on Odin’s stomach and eyeing Frey warily. He fluttered away again as Odin and Frey struggled to their feet, nearly slipping again in the process.

“I don’t know how the Jötnar got around without constantly giving themselves concussions,” confessed Frey, leaning against a nearby cart to steady himself before offering Odin a hand up.

Odin ignored it, moving carefully to make up for the lack of support. Once he was reliably upright once more, Huginn reattached himself to his shoulder.

Frey dropped the hand, and with it, some of his facade. “Why have you come?” he asked curtly.

The raven shifted uneasily, but Odin’s reputation for mysteriousness proved useful once again. “An old man can still go walking, can he not?”

“Jötunheim isn’t a place for a pleasant stroll,” Frey observed. “Especially at nightfall.”

“Then invite me into your home, where I can warm myself,” Odin said.

Frey waited a moment too long before responding with the customary “It would be my honour to host you, All-Father.”

Odin followed him up a tall hill overlooking the hamlet below. The going was tough, but Frey didn’t extend a hand to help again. Neither did Odin ask for it.

The home at the peak of the bluff was modest for a lord’s, but still grand. Odin waited for Frey to lead the way to the house, but the Lord instead stopped and began to describe the difficulties of creating the foundations for such a home in frozen ground. 

Fortunately, one of the benefits of being old and the king was that you didn’t have to stand on ceremony. Odin brushed past Frey, making a beeline for the house. At once, Frey leapt ahead, almost running to the door. He pounded it loudly.

“GUNNHILDE!” he shouted. “The All-Father is here - a surprise visit! I hope you’ve cooked enough dinner for one more than usual!”

A loud thump came from inside the house. There was a long pause before a woman called back. “The children are playing by the river. Should I send them a message?”

Frey called back. “Let them play a little longer. I’m sure our guest wouldn’t want to be disturbed.”

Another minute passed, and then the door opened. A flummoxed Asgardian woman peered out, blonde hair tangled about her face. “Sorry,” she grinned. “Just wanted to neaten up a bit before the All-Father himself entered.”

He was ushered into a den towards the back of the house, a large fire in its centre. Surprisingly, the room was little warmer than outside. Was it possible for a flame to be defective? He glared at the thing, but it seemed well-stocked with fresh logs…although there seemed to be few coals, and the pit itself spotlessly clean.

Frey settled into a fur-covered chair in one corner, thoughtlessly pulling one over his legs. Odin sat across from him in a barren chair. Indeed, it seemed Frey’s chair was the only one the room to be so blessed in warm coverings.

Gunnhild returned, carrying a tray burdened with hot mead. Odin gratefully wrapped his frigid fingers around a horn, preferring simply to hold it.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said kindly. “Won’t you have some?”

“Oh, I think I’d best be getting back to my duties…supper needs tending, and children cause a never-ending list of troubles that always seem to involve cleaning…”

“I insist,” Odin said, still genial, but irrefutable. “It is not every day that the All-Father visits. I should like to get to know the woman who married Frödor’s grandson.”

Gunnhilde and Frey stared at him, expectant and wary. Odin simply sipped at the mead, occasionally holding up the horn for Huginn to wet his beak He nearly offered it to his empty shoulder as well, but caught himself in time.

A long minute of silence was punctuated by the crackling fire as it finally got its teeth into the wood. Finally, Frey could seem to bear it no longer.

“So,” Frey leaned forward, loosely clasping his hands. “How do you find Jötunheim? It’s not the optimal time of year, of course, but you know I’ve always fancied the terrain. There is scarcely grander in all the Nine. I mean, in all the Twelve. Are you thinking of building a summer palace here, to escape those hot Asgardian months?”

Odin’s gaze cut through Frey's babble. “No.”

Gunnhilde’s sharp glare parried Odin’s gaze. “This is the nearest settlement to Utgard. Is that where you came from?”

Odin shifted his attention to her. “Aye, it is.”

_So I've come from Utgard. What was my business there? Perhaps negotiating the treaty with Laufey…no wonder I needed a walk. Even after a full surrender the man was as stubborn as an elven architect. He’d keep building arrogance on sunken foundations for decades while his people starved if he could but spite me for a moment._

Gunnhilde didn’t break her stare. “What did you think of its state?”

 _Its state? Utgard had suffered damage from siege weapons, but it was a hardy construction. It cannot expect to be in better shape, considering how long it took before they declared defeat._ “A city cannot expect to come out unscathed when a battle is waged within its very walls,” Odin said evasively. “If it would rather avoid it, it should surrender before it is breached.”

Gunnhilde finally looked away, one hand knotting in her skirt. “I see,” she said with a note of bitterness. “So you are proud of the work your sons achieved?”

Odin’s eye retreated into the heavy shadows of his skull-like countenance. He said nothing. He again felt the weight of Frey’s appraisal, shrewder then before. He spoke again in a false-cheery voice Odin was coming to despise.

“How old are Thor and Loki now? It’s been ages since I attended their last Namedays…”

“Be sure to attend the next,” Odin said cooly.

Frey leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Yes, I wonder if the Queen will ever forgive me…is Frigga well, Your Grace?”

Odin’s eyebrow stitched together in warning disapproval. “If she weren’t, Yggdrasil would be in utter disarray."

“It certainly feels that way,” Gunnhilde muttered.

Dawning credulity spread across Frey’s face.

Odin did not like the look of it. He never liked it when someone thought they knew more about the situation than he. He liked it even less when it seemed like they might be right.

“So the stories are true,” Frey wondered. “You are…not whole, Odin All-Father.”

“What are you accusing me of, Lord Frey?” Odin said dangerously.

“Where is Muninn?” Frey asked plainly.

The lightness of his left shoulder suddenly became apparent to Odin, making him feel lopsided and out of balance. Where had Muninn gone? Had he sent him somewhere? Surely not for so long…

Disoriented, Odin glanced around the room, looking for something to tell him what was happening to him. He did not know this place. He was not sure he even knew Frey - the man was acting so strangely. Was he an imposter? How could he be sure without Muninn?

Lord Frey stroked his greying beard. “Did you come here because you are following the motions of your younger self? Or are you simply…lost?”

The chill was settling into Odin’s bones, even as the youthful fire finally got its teeth into the wood. Where was Muninn? He needed him…could the blasted bird not see he needed him, he needed to come back, he needed to be here with Odin, a part of Odin...

Huginn hopped from right shoulder to left, and then back again. It was as if he was running from shoulder to shoulder in search of his brother - or was attempting to be two ravens at once. The bird cawed loudly in one of Odin's ears, startling a roar out of him.

“HUGINN! ENOUGH!”

The bird paused, panting, claws affixed to Odin’s white hair as he stood atop his head. He appeared to have gotten ahold of himself once more.

Pain. Sudden, visceral, in the centre of his forehead. Wetness streaming down past his eye. A fierce cawing, black feathers torn loose from fierce wingbeats, a shout -

Huginn tore free from Odin’s head. More wetness, trails of it from every talon.

The raven cawed and flew about the room in a panic, everyone powerless to calm him. He circled up the chimney, his voice roughened further by the smoke, until he found the highest, darkest rafter and settled there, still panting. He turned his head into his wings and began to preen, perhaps in an attempt to calm himself. He plucked loose two feathers and spat them out, leaving them to float gently down into the fire. The smell as they burned was acrid.

Frey stood up, as if released from a spell. “All-Father…you’re bleeding…Gunnhilde, fetch…no, I’ll get them…” he hastened from the room, returning moments later with wet cloth and bandages.

Odin touched his head and felt a deep puncture. The bleeding was profuse, dripping down his face and collecting into his horn, mixing with the mead. He stared at the drops as they bloomed in the alcohol, like tiny roses.

Lord Frey knelt before him, and before Odin could protest, he pressed the wad of bandages tight against the wound, stemming the blood flow. With his other hand he mopped Odin’s face best he could, succeeding mostly in smearing the blood into every wrinkle and crevice, through which the blood ran like tiny rivers across a desert.

“Forgive me, All-Father - I never did learn to specialize in any magical craft, but I did learn a little healing. I can at least close the wound.”

A flash of heat. The blood stopped. The pain did not vanish, only faded. Frey got to work attaching the bandage more securely to Odin’s head. Even as he did so, something in the cut resisted, seething at the magic and cloth trying to close the wound. 

“You should still see a proper healer,” Frey advised, stepping back again.

Odin touched the bandage again, wanting no more than to tear it off. He did not like the feel of it. His fingers began to tremble, and soon the shake had spread to the rest of him.

“Do you know where you are, Odin?” Frey questioned.

“I…I am on Jötunheim, near Utgard.”

“Very good. Do you know why you are here?”

Odin did not like the slow way Frey was speaking. Did he think Odin an imbecile? A child? “Do not propose to speak to a king with such condescension, boy, nor presume to know his business - ”

The woman snorted. “You are not a king.”

Odin snorted right back at her. “Many people do not like that I am king, but that does not change that it is so.”

“No-one is king forever. You were succeeded by your eldest son many centuries ago. But even when you did reign in Asgard, you were never my king. And now…” her lip curled. “I cannot believe it. But it is so…you are just an old man. A sad, sick old man who knows nothing.”

Odin stilled. “Only fools presume to know things. It is a wise man who knows he knows nothing. I do, however, know one thing. Your name is not Gunnhilde.” His voice was steady, calm. He looked into her soft, brown, and terribly false eyes. “Hello, Gerda.”

For the second time that day, Odin felt something unexpectedly sharp against his skin. He had not even seen Frey draw the blade. Despite the rashness of the action, Frey was steady, his expression flat.

They stayed like that for several long moments.

“He may be a rude houseguest, Husband, but if he dies here we are guaranteed many more,” Gerda remarked.

“Odin is a secretive man. It is possible he told no-one he was coming to this planet,” Frey said lowly.

“And you think he is so unimportant that no-one will look for him, or might have noticed him come here?”

Frey looked to his wife. She’d gone pale, but she was no less determined for it. He withdrew his short sword from Odin’s neck and sheathed it.

“How did you know?” Gerda demanded.

“How did you think you’re doing a good job of disguising it?” Odin settled back into the cold chair. “You need not fear I will reveal it. It is as your husband said - I am a secretive man.”

Frey remained standing, placing himself between Odin and Gerda. “Perhaps not intentionally, but if the rumours about your condition are true - you are not the man you used to be.”

“I know enough secrets to bring Asgard falling out of the sky. Whatever you may have heard about my condition, you haven’t heard my secrets.”

Gerda chuckled scornfully. “Is that all I am to you, then? Just one more secret for you to keep, a part of your collection? No…no, I will not allow that to be so.” In a fluid motion, she tore at the edge of her face, a flash of purple magic disintegrating in her grip.

Frey sucked in a breath. “Gerda, no! Someone might see -“

“I want _him_ to see!” Gerda snarled with sharp teeth. “If he would claim to know my secret, then let him know me!”

Frey was forced back against the wall as she grew, revealing why the rafters of the house were built so high. Cloth tore and fell to the floor, but Gerda cared nothing for modesty. She grew taller and taller, disturbing even Huginn from his roost. He cawed a warning and swooped back down to Odin’s shoulder to cower.

Red eyes glared down at Odin. Familiar red eyes.

_A forest of Jötnar surrounding me. Blood seeping from my feet._

_Running. Losing grip…falling…_

_Skin turning from Às to Jötunn and back again…_

_Walking out of a drowning room, Loki asleep on the bed…I wanted to remember that…_

_The tapestry, another war, Thor’s footsteps fading into the crescendo of marching soldiers…_

_Alone with the stitched imagery of Jötnar falling in battle, looking upwards towards their conqueror..._

The red eyes were waiting above him.

“I see you, Gerda,” Odin said quietly.

“Do you?” her booming voice shook dust loose from the ceiling. “There is so much of me.”

Odin said nothing. He waited.

“Do you see what I do not have?” Gerda challenged him. “I have no freedom. I have no history. My family, my friends are gone. Even my face is no longer my own. You and yours have taken everything from me.”

Frey approached her leg, attempting to soothe her. She ignored him.

“So what have you come, for now, Odin? Will you take away this husband, like you took my first? Will you take my children? Will you feed us all into the Mouth, as Asgard did to the rest of my kind?”

_The Mouth._

_The abyss behind the ruined temple…_

“You are much like that Mouth…no matter how much you take, it is never enough. I do not even have the corpses of things that once were. I have no songs, no histories, not even ruins...Nothing to prove to my children that the Jötnar were once a great people….nothing to prove to them that it is a proud thing to be jötunn. How can I, when I myself hide in Asgardian skin?”

She looked down at Frey, tightening her lip in some sort of signal. His hand on her leg glowed a soft purple once more, spreading over her form like an aurora. She began to shrink, still speaking all the while.

“Sometimes it feels as if Gerda went into the Mouth, and all that I am is a performance called Gunnhilde. Every day I must smile and watch the people who took my world from me - every day I must try to be more and more like them. Sometimes I wonder if that is cowardly…surely a truly strong person would surrender their life before compromising their self?”

When she was the size of an Asgardian woman once more, Frey hurried to drape her nude form in a fur. She held out a hand and stopped him, preferring to stand defiant. Her gaze with Odin remained unbroken, though her eyes were now brown again.

“I would have chosen death first. My own. But my children's…perhaps one day they will curse me for putting their lives over pride. I hope they will. I hope they carry on anyway, as I must.”

A long silence. She waited for Odin to speak.

“What was the name of your first husband?” Odin requested softly.

“Suttung. He was a famous mead-maker. You likely dined with his work many times.”

“What are the names of your children?”

“Merja and Baugi are their birth names. But they have gone by Beyla and Yngvi for most of their lives.”

Odin looked meaningfully at Frey. “They are…your children, too?”

“They are mine now,” Frey said stiffly. “But they were not always, no. Beyla was Suttung’s daughter. Yngvi was an orphan.”

“Are they also so disguised?”

Gerda laughed bitterly. “Oh, their disguises are better than mine. Baugi has never even seen himself as he truly is…all he knows is Yngvi’s face and name. He is convinced, and so is quite convincing.”

Odin considered Frey. “How did you learn this magic?”

Frey’s lips twisted. “Of course that would be what you are most interested in, Witchking. I was never considered particularly talented at magic, was I? I should be honoured the God of Magic himself likes my work.”

Odin ignored the bitterness in Frey’s voice. “I have only seen its like once before; I admit curiosity as to how you came across it…” _Would he recognize a similar working? Should he be kept from meeting Loki again? Is it already too late?_

“It is…my own invention. I may not be talented, but I am willing to learn from many sources; the elves and the giants of realms ice and fire have shown me much.”

_Closer to home, then. My magic will still be beyond his ken. Loki is safe from his eyes._

Odin nodded and stood. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He walked towards the door. No-one stopped him. He paused. “You are right; I am an old man. Age is often a fatal condition. Rest assured I am taking steps to ensure that I take my secrets with me. But for your sake, I hope that you do not have to keep this one forever.”

Gerda shrugged. “Why not? It is all I have left.”

Odin frowned. “What about your children? Do you not have them?”

She looked towards the window, though her expression was distant and unfocused. “I have Beyla and Yngvi.”

“And me,” Frey said quietly.

Gerda turned her blonde head under his and embraced him. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Gunnhilde and I have you.”

Odin left them.

Stepping back out into the frigid Jötunheim night was like a slap to the face, yet Odin made no sign that he felt anything. Wind and snow drove him down the hill, though he did not return to the little village. Instead, he listened for the trickle of the river and followed it until he heard the voices of children at play, seemingly unaffected by the frigid temperatures.

“Bey-la! Give it back!”

“Catch me first!”

“No fair! You’re bigger than me!”

The tall girl dangled something bright and shiny in front of him and danced away again as he swiped for it. She glanced up and saw Odin and froze. Her brother quickly took advantage and ripped the object back from her slack grip.

“Haha! You’re slow, Sister…”

“Hush! Can’t you see who’s watching us?” she hissed.

The little boy turned and joined her in staring. “It’s just an old man.”

“With one eye and a _raven!_ It’s got to be Odin!”

“Right…who is that again?”

They didn’t seem to realize that the wind was carrying their voices right to him.

Beyla looked at her brother in disgust, but before she could say anything, the boy was marching towards the old king. “Are you important?” he demanded.

“I am,” Odin replied matter-of-factly.

“Are you gonna tell on us for taking this?” He held up what appeared to be some sort of carved gem. It gleamed as clear as water, and in its heart was a spark, trapped in place. Likely spoils from Utgard that they’d taken from one of the hauling crews. The boy shoved it into his pocket and put his finger to his lips. “Promise not to tell?”

Odin nodded.

The boy grinned and ran back to his sister. “It’s fine, he swore he wouldn’t tell! Now you try and get it back -“

The girl ignored her brother’s tugs, instead narrowing her eyes. “Maybe it isn’t Odin. He’s too short. Plus a king wouldn’t have a janky old bandage across his face like that. And he only has one raven.” She shrugged, then returned to the game with her brother.

Absent-mindedly, Odin pulled the bandage from his head. It was easy enough to stitch together a quick glamour to hide the wound. Huginn seemed to relax as the scar disappeared, as if able to put his transgression behind him now that the evidence was missing. Odin turned and continued walking, disappearing into the gloom of Jötunheim’s wastes.

He should go back to Asgard before he forgot where he was again. Go back to the golden city of warmth, where his family was waiting for him.

He kept walking, listening to the crunch of his footsteps across the empty tundra, savouring the numbness that followed in the wake of the cold wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where my Quarantine Crew at? 
> 
> I feel like I'm spoiling you guys. All these chapters I sat on for a year, and here I am posting them with not a week between them. I guess I think y'all need them most now.  
> As always, I look forward to your comments. Stay safe and healthy out there. And don't get a flea infestation from the neighbour's cat like me, that's not a good ingredient for the current mental health nightmare recipe we're swimming in right now. 
> 
> ...I let him in for FIVE MINUTES.


	7. Three Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki searches for Odin and finds something - someplace - else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [JaggedCliffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaggedCliffs/pseuds/JaggedCliffs) for Beta-ing this chapter and all previous.

**LOKI**

* * *

While the denizens of Asgard - and those very few outsiders who had graced its realm - marvelled at the enormous scope of the palace, Loki knew its familiar confines as finite. As a child, he had catalogued every nook and cranny into a memorized map of the best places to hide after a bout of troublemaking. As an adult, he had paced it end to end when he’d needed to think them all out of whatever trouble the Asgardian Empire had gotten into.

So he knew that he’d not missed anything. He’d checked every floor, every wing, every hall, every room, from the tallest central tower to the lowest dungeons.

Odin was not here.

_Or he’s avoiding me._

Loki shook himself. He was being ridiculous. What reasons would his father have to avoid him?

_Perhaps I remind him of his infirmity, since he must rely on me so. Perhaps he is embarrassed of how he acted last night, with me as chief witness. In his mind, Loki and his shame are now intrinsically linked._

Loki stopped walking. _I will not think such things,_ he reprimanded himself. _There is no shame in getting old and suffering the consequences of that._ _Despite what Thor said, I_ **_do_** _know my place. I always knew that caring for our parents would fall to me, and I was glad of it. Father expects it too. And I will not fail him._

If Odin was not in the palace, he’d likely escaped into Asgard’s streets…or had world-walked.

Both possibilities meant that Loki could no longer look alone. It meant calling together a search party, mages to send locating spells. More people meant more tongues wagging.

_If Heimdall wasn’t busy with transporting damned soldiers, I could go and ask him…No. I’ve no need for that peeping tom. Father would prefer I take care of this myself, if possible._

There had to be somewhere he’d missed. Someplace he hadn’t checked thoroughly…

_The Garden was a beautiful place._

The thought made him pause. It had sounded not quite like his own internal voice…and yet not unfamiliar.

The Garden. He had asked a gardener if he’d seen Odin, but had not himself entered. He’d been avoiding the place since Mother passed.

Going there without her…no, it was more like…if he didn’t go there, then perhaps that’s where she still was. She might be tending a young, alien tree suffering in Asgard’s warm climate, or else encouraging a flock of wing-willows to flap so that they might fly in time for the Spring Festival. She might finish soon and come out of the Garden again. Might walk into whatever room Loki was in and ask how his day had been. Maybe she’d complain of an over-enthusiastic gardener’s apprentice who’d accidentally removed her prize bloatweeds. Perhaps he’d already received his comeuppance when they’d released their noxious gases into his face as he was carting them away. Loki would laugh and inquire why she grew bloatweeds at all, which were not the prettiest of plants. She could launch into a long explanation of why they were necessary for some other plant to grow well, or how she found their occasionally belching charming and an essential part of the Garden’s ambience, or she might simply say nothing at all and instead simply smile enigmatically.

It was nonsense, of course.

His father could have out-manoeuvred a gardener. He was known to visit the place regularly still. Before Loki embarrassed them all by sounding the alarm unnecessarily, he should make a more thorough search of the place.

He usually entered the Garden through the main entrance, right at the back of the main palace. Loki was very far from that particular gate, but the palace encircled the Garden in its entirety - a service entrance should be nearby.

At the thought, his feet seemed to swerve, redirecting him on to a familiar path he couldn’t recall taking before. He passed under archways and bridges, descending a staircase that took him out of the golden and alabaster surroundings and into a more simple, functional one that the servants used to more quickly navigate. This was directly beneath the kitchens - the smell of roasting mutton and lindworm confirmed it. Somehow that made him even more certain of his direction.

As he descended a second staircase, the simple decor became positively ancient, merely stained and crumbled stone - the very foundations of Asgard. If he was not careful, he’d descend to the level of the prisons and the catacombs themselves. Yet the old, mouldy door at the bottom of the stairs did not smell of the mildew and damp of such places - instead, he could feel a cool breeze coming from its keyhole.

He had no key. Not that that was usually a problem. He cast a simple ‘Royalty Recognition’ spell. To his surprise, the door remained closed. There shouldn’t have been any door in the palace that could refuse that. He gripped the corroded handle and tried again.

It didn’t come easily. It budged an inch, then held its ground, then gave up another inch with a terrible scraping. His hand tingled as if he was shaking hands with an angry Thor. A golden spark leapt from it into the lock, and at once the door groaned open a solid two feet. Loki quickly moved through it, the door slamming behind him the moment he released the knob. At once he scratched at his hand, which had begun to itch again.

He was deep beneath Asgard. It should have been dark.

Long purple lights hovered just above the ground, seeming to sway at his approach. From the ceiling hung cable-like vines, shimmering with some unknown energy. Between the two was a marked path, winding through the darkness before becoming an ascending staircase. There was no door at the top, merely a crumbling archway curtained by witches hair. He parted it with both hands and stepped through.

This morning, if asked, Loki would have been able to draw a map of the garden from memory, so certain was he of its layout. Yet he had never seen this place before.

It was a forgotten garden within a garden, sunken into the ground as if stepped on by a giant. The top of the pit was shrouded by briars, and above that must have been thick tree cover, for only a few bands of the autumn light penetrated the gloom.

It must have been beautiful, once. There was a broken fountain near the entrance, carved with the dancing figures of animals, though their details had worn away. Its insides were full of slime, but also with lily pads and tiny white blooms Loki had never seen in the lakes above. Beyond was a jungle knotted thorns and weeds, but even there was evidence of past care. One side was more roses, a mix of crimson and grey, while the other flickered with strange dancing lights.

Loki summoned his dagger, but before he could harm so much as a single twig, the plants began to part for him. A thin dirt path appeared between the two sides.

Loki stepped forward, like a fish on a line being reeled in. This place seemed to know him…to welcome him? The leaves rustled as he passed, as if the bushes were whispering to themselves.

“Ah!” he cried out, grabbing his shoulder.

A thorny vine retreated, dripping blood.

The whispering grew louder. Almost… _argumentative._ Loki walked a little faster.

Another thorn sprang out, catching his ear. He pulled it free and pushed forward, closer to the end now than the beginning. A root raised to trip him up, but he saw it in time and leapt clear. A full branch shoved its way in front, and now his dagger came in handy.

He hadn’t expected it to scream.

The path behind him was closing, the leaves rustling as loud as an accusing shout. Vines tried to wind around his shoulders, his neck -

He summoned his second dagger.

The exit was closing. He leapt.

A briar caught his leg, threatening to pull him back inside -

He kicked out, his heart starting to race and his skin prickling. _“Let…go…!”_ he commanded.

It hesitated. Loosened.

Loki pulled himself free and scrabbled backwards as the wilderness snapped closed like a trap. It moved no more. Nonetheless, Loki looked around quickly, to see if any other plants were nearby.

He was lying on a carpet of moss. It was motionless enough - although Loki would have said most plants were until fairly recently. Beyond this point the grass was shorter, mixed with wildflowers, before giving way to a small grove of three trees. Hopefully, they had nothing against him, because it seemed the way out was behind them - a staircase out of this pit.

Cautiously, he approached the first tree - a dead, blackened thing with bare branches. Something crunched under his foot. Loki lifted it and saw a veritable graveyard of smaller plants, all withered and dry - aside from dozens of blue flowers, which seemed quite content.

**_“How could you let this happen?”_ **

Loki turned to see where the voice had come from.

For a moment, the garden seemed to shift before his eyes. Blue flowers had seemingly sprouted everywhere, filling the garden to the brim.

“I’m sorry,” Loki said automatically, a terrible feeling of guilt in his chest. “I tried to -“

_Tried to what?_

He blinked. The flowers vanished, returning the garden to its misty, decrepit state.

Loki felt his forehead. _I must be coming down with something. Little wonder, after sleeping in water._

He gave the dead tree a wide berth, walking closer to the second tree - a far healthier specimen. Robust, even. Perhaps it was its fortune of growing in one of the only beams of sunlight that penetrated the dim. Or perhaps it was its long branches and golden leaves, which stretched high above the other two trees to capture most of the light for itself.

Loki’s neck prickled. Something pulsed through the ground, sending a tingle over his skin.

He looked over at the third tree. It seemed normal enough - smaller than the other two, but still full of green leaves that reached for whatever light the golden tree hadn’t seized. And yet he could still feel… _something_ emanating from it. No…from below it.

He glanced from the distant staircase to the tree. He could return to investigate later. Odin was the priority. Yet before he could move towards the exit, a pulse of energy from the ground caught him off-guard.

Something was calling to him. No…he was calling to it. A mutual calling. A matched magical frequency. Had he cast a spell here long ago and forgotten it?

Cautiously, Loki sent out a tendril of probing energy into the ground at the tree’s base. There was something here - something meant to protect, to hide. Nearly too late, he realized what it was and hastily withdrew.

This was no single spell. It was a snarl of them, each more dangerous than the last. He recognized the construction of a few - spells to send any pursuer into a mindless, fear-consumed run until they exhausted themselves to death, spells to wipe clean the minds of any who brushed against them, spells to bind and force the truth out of the trespasser. Most of these seemed rather counter-productive all together. There was something _unreasoning_ to their knitting. As if the caster had merely thrown together every spell they could think of, although the meticulousness and power of the spells seemed to suggest a far more advanced mage than should make such a mistake.

He’d sensed something else too - magic nearly as familiar as his own. His mother’s work lay under here, though he could not sense the exact nature of it without closer inspection.

There was only one powerful mage he could see working with Frigga to hide something in secret. It was with that energy that he felt a strange kinship with, a kinship he could not recall experiencing before.

Why was his father’s magic calling out to him now?

Perhaps in his sleep, Odin had leaked magical residue, like powerful children who hadn’t learned to control their abilities sometimes did. If Loki were covered in the miasma, he might be able to sense Odin’s spells almost as clearly as his own.

_Perhaps a sleeping spell wasn’t all he cast on me..._

Loki ignored the thought, stepping forward to touch the trunk of the little tree.

The magic was in here, too - flowing like a river. To his surprise, however, the energy of the tree itself was not so strong. He looked up again at the green leaves.

He’d been mistaken to think the tree was healthy. The leaves didn’t belong to the tree, but to bunches of mistletoe, wrapped along its branches, choking out the few leaves the tree did manage to produce.

_What did Mother and Father hide here? Why was it abandoned? Do I have any right to know? And if the answer is no…will I look anyway?_

He backed away from the tree. _If Odin is sane enough to avoid me, he’s sane enough to answer questions. And if he refuses to answer…well, I can always wait until he’s a little less so and ask again._

His stomach knotted at the idea of taking advantage of his father’s illness to discover something meant to be forgotten. These thoughts…where were they coming from? They were unwelcome.

As was he in this place. It was not meant for him.

He made his way towards the stairs, concentrating with all his might on not looking behind him.

At the top of the sunken garden, he again needed his dagger to cut his way out of the briars. Once free, he was standing deep in a woodsy section of the garden, far from any path.

There should have been no-one around.

**_"You were supposed to look after the Garden. Look at it now.”_ **

There was a sudden, striking pain in his head, as if he’d been stabbed.

Without bothering to mark his path, he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter, everyone. Here's a small present. Sorry it's so short, ended up splitting this from another chapter. 
> 
> Hope you're all bearing up alright. As always, I am eager for your comments. They bring me much cheer in this dark time.


	8. The Vault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin goes to the Vault to search for the Casket - but those plans no longer matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [JaggedCliffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaggedCliffs/pseuds/JaggedCliffs) for Beta-ing this chapter and all previous. She went through quite the pack over the last few weeks and has been invaluable when it comes to bouncing off ideas. Definitely check out her work.

**ODIN**

* * *

The Casket hummed faintly, almost imperceptibly. When he’d taken it, years ago, it had positively rumbled with its barely constrained energies. Odin wondered if its current quietness was because of his increasing deafness or its decreasing power.

The distant, ghostly voice of Laufey seemed to echo through the Vault. _“You may hold the heart of our world, All-Father, but it will never beat for you. It will sing, but you will not hear it. You can take it, but you can never own it!”_

Huginn ruffled his wings, spilling the last of Jötunheim’s snow off his feathers. A beady black eye roved their surroundings. He clucked judgmentally. _“What a mess.”_

The last time Odin recalled being in this place, the Casket had sat at the very end of the Vault on a plinth, with only a few other objects of power (of various authenticities) in cavities along the wall. Now the Casket was in a dusty corner of the room, stuffed into a heap of relics Odin did not recognize.

Thor was apparently more excited in procuring items than in their careful display.

Odin bent over awkwardly, brushing aside an ornate, whispering mirror and a golden box filled with blinking eyeballs with expressions of varying annoyance. Once freed, the Casket was heavier than he remembered - his knees protested as he attempted to straighten with it in his arms.

 _I dreamt about hearts and Jötunheim…surely that must be about the Casket, the Heart of Jötunheim?_ Hearts being removed, and giants falling into a hole in the ground…the second part turned out to be literal, but it had been Odin who removed this heart years ago…

Yes, he’d torn the heart out of Jötunheim, but it had hardly been his choice. _He_ was not the one who had turned it into a weapon. He had not planned to keep it forever…it was just safer in Asgard, safer for everyone in the Nine and certainly safer for the Jötnar to be guarded against temptation.

Huginn laughed in that eerie way of his - as if he were echoing up from a crumbling well. _“Oh, yes, Jötnar very safe. Thor and Loki make sure of that, while Heart lies forgotten here."_

Odin had every intention of someday returning the Casket -

_“No. Odin thought to maybe give Casket to Loki. Return both. Odin hope that shine of Heart blind Jötnar, make so think Loki hero, rightful King, hope-bearer… in case Laufey-blood not enough. But then Odin keep Loki, keep Casket. And now…no-one left to return Casket to. Possibility no longer matters.”_

Gerda and her children - perhaps back in her hands, they could rebuild Utgard -

 _“A city isn’t just buildings, Odin,”_ mocked Huginn, perfectly imitating Odin’s voice from earlier that day. _“Big city for just three little jötunns. Might be nice spot for executions, though. Asgard will search for Casket, and what will they find? The last of the jotunns, pretty as peas.”_

“I know that,” Odin said irritably, shrugging his shoulders and sending Huginn into the air.

 _“Odin does not know what he does not know,”_ Huginn mocked, flying to perch atop the stuffed head of the Midgard Serpent, the highest point of this particular mound.

“I know you’re an irritant too eager to tell me what I already know, including what I know I don’t know,” Odin grumbled. “I had grander ideas for your purpose than that.”

Huginn huffed. _“Purpose?”_ The raven scrutinized him. " _Odin wishing that if he could only have one raven, that Muninn had been one to survive?”_

“I wish I had both of you still,” Odin said. “I need both of you. Whether it was you or Muninn who…you are both necessary.”

 _“Always two ravens,”_ Huginn agreed. _“But now there is only Huginn. But when Huginn try to be Huginn, Odin say ‘Be quiet, Huginn!’ Odin wants Huginn to be Muninn, want memories.”_

“Huginn -“ Odin began

 _“Huginn hates it,”_ the raven spat. _“Huginn is Huginn! Cannot be more! Too much purpose, too little bird!”_

“You are more than just a bird. I saw to that,” Odin snapped. “And your purpose matches that gift. And right now, your purpose is to go to the place Heimdall described and procure the book. Deliver it to Loki in a way that will not invoke suspicion.”

Before the rook could respond, the Vault doors swung open with a cacophonous creak. Odin put the Casket down as if he were a child caught in the act of filching a pie from the kitchen. As the sound of marching drew nearer, Huginn took wing, soaring out through the doors with one last, disgruntled caw. In his place, a river of soldiers marched through, carrying trays loaded with silvery weapons.

“Father!” Thor cried out. He rushed forward carrying one of the largest of the things.

For a moment Odin saw double, both the new king and the young boy, eager to show his father his new toy sword and the wondrous things he could do with it. His knees even sent a warning sharp pain through him as the instinct to scoop up the phantom child struck him.

"Father, I wish you could have seen the field of battle today! Here, have a look at what they were trying to shoot us with -“ he pushed the silvery thing into Odin’s hands. Odin looked at it dazedly.

“Oh? It’s very…nice…”

“Nothing compared to a good Asgardian soldier’s might, but these are certainly more troublesome than they’d first appear.” Thor pulled another weapon from a stack in an Einherji’s hands. He aimed it at the back wall and pulled the trigger. A web of light erupted and sizzled through the air. It collided with the metal grate and hung there like an angry, electric cobweb.

Thor waited for the grating to slide open as the Destroyer responded to the threat. He fired again, and this time the cobweb wrapped itself around the metal man, pinning its arms to its sides with a clang and it began to pump paralyzing energy through it.

“It’s semi-organic. Probably a weaponized animal of some sort,” Thor squinted at the Destroyer, which was attempting to pull the net-like material off. It shocked the robot repeatedly, but the defender of the Vault had seen worse. It tore the creature off and held it up to its face, where it was quickly incinerated.

“Thank you, that will be all. Leave us to our business for today,” Thor dismissed it. He tossed the weapon back on the pile. “You’d think they were being merciful, choosing to use a net like this. But it incapacitates faster than a deadly blow and it allows for easy capture. And, if the net isn’t removed, it constricts until the prisoner is strangled!” Thor grinned with pure delight.

“Oh.” Odin blinked at his reflection in the shiny depths of the thing. “I…I see.”

“What were you doing down here anyway, Father?” Thor asked, suddenly aware of the oddness of Odin’s presence. “Were you looking for something?”

“Yes, yes I…I was...” Odin trailed off. His hands tightened on the silver gun. He glanced around the suddenly chaotic Vault, watching as soldiers and servants made room for the gun on a new plinth and opened a storage area below it to tip the rest of the spares into. “Does that…really belong in here? Things are more cluttered than they were in my day…”

“Ah, yes. We’ve just been so busy, we haven’t had time to organize! Perhaps after we take our newest realm we can find the time to alphabetize it again.” Thor plucked the weapon from Odin’s hands and tossed it to a soldier. “What do you think, ᛊ for silver? Or maybe ᛒ for ‘pew-pew!’”

The loss of his reflection sent Odin temporarily reeling. He tried to recall what he had just been thinking. It was important. He was meant to be doing something. Meant to be feeling something. But all he felt was the lightness of his shoulders...

Thor noticed the Casket sitting pretty atop the pile of unsorted spoils. “That’s not where that was,” he said, looking at Odin. “Is that what you were playing around with down here? You were talking about it this morning, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Odin automatically, though he was certain of no such thing. It wouldn’t do to ask, though. Best play along until he could pick up the threads again.

“You were going on about Jötunheim, too. And some sort of intuition you had about the place. Are you still looking into that? Is that why you’re wearing a hat and gloves?”

Odin stared at the Casket. Yes, yes…Jötunheim. Something about the Casket and Jötunheim. This morning. This morning he’d spoken with Thor.

Why couldn’t he remember? He’d just been thinking about it, he knew he’d been. Why was he here?

Thor narrowed his eyes. “Father,” he said slowly, “Are you truly certain you know why you’re here?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy,” Odin snapped. “I do nothing without reason.”

“Of course, Father, of course,” agreed Thor, nodding. “But perhaps it would be best if you finished up and allowed the Einherjar to finish their business -“

“Do you truly respect me so little that you think the business of soldiers is of higher priority than my own?” Wizened face crinkling in rage, masking the confusion best it could, Odin drew himself up. “Especially since it seems their ‘business’ is to make a mockery and mess of this Vault! What have you been up to, that you have so many gaudy trophies?”

Thor took an involuntary step back. “Nothing you wouldn’t be proud of, Father,” he insisted. “Nothing a king wouldn’t do to defend his home.”

“BUT YOU’RE NOT KING!” The words were like a gale force, knocking every other sound out of the air as the Einherjar fell still and stared.

Thor gaped, momentarily stunned.

“Not yet,” Odin said, suddenly quiet. Yet the words reverberated around the room.

While Thor remained shocked into silence, Odin furrowed his brow in concentration, frustration mounting. Jötunheim. The Casket. Something to do with both. Anger. Yes, anger. The need to put things right, to prevent catastrophe - these were feelings well known to him. If only he could remember the exact actions they were meant to inspire…

Thor swallowed and turned to nod at one of the tallest Einherjar. “Perhaps you are tired, Father. Captain Sigfried would be happy to escort you to your chambers -“

The Captain stepped forward, gesturing for the All-Father to follow him.

Odin refused to move an inch. “Is this truly what you have spent your time doing? Gathering trinkets and toys and leaving them strewn about as if it were your adolescent bedroom? What is the point of it? Vanity or some ill-expressed desire to strike fear into others? It is a poor warrior who must carry his sword unsheathed to be respected. What does that make you, with a thousand tangled blades on display?”

“Such sharp words, Father! How am I to defend myself with only a blunt hammer of a tongue to spar with?” Thor managed a forced chuckle. “Perhaps Loki would prove a better duellist.” He glared at a soldier near the door, who seemed to take the hint and quickly darted out of the room.

“Loki…” Odin growled, but broke off. There was something about Loki. Something important. He had to _do_ something about Loki. He shook his head like a bull worried by flies. “You can’t rely on your brother’s silvertongue to fence off trouble this time, Thor. You will answer for your actions.”

A note of exasperation coloured Thor’s voice. “What actions, Father? What are you talking about? I’ve done nothing wrong!“

“You have!”

Thor forced a grin that didn’t meet his eyes, which were rolling in exasperation. “Pray don’t spare any detail, Father.”

“You have…you know what you’ve done!” snapped Odin. He turned to glare at the soldiers. “You are all dismissed. I would speak to my son in private.”

Sigfried and his men looked to Thor, who held out a hand to keep them in place. “Continue with your work,” he commanded.

The Einherjar turned their backs on Odin and began their tasks once more.

Odin stood by, deceptively still.

The temperature slowly began to drop in his immediate vicinity. The air in the room stirred at this sudden depression, causing a faint breeze that fluttered Odin’s beard.

He looked at the guards. “You would defy your king to serve his insolent whelp?” His voice was conversational, almost friendly - and yet bled with eerie promise of terrible retribution.

Thor was not the least bit intimidated. “No, Father. They do not defy their king. They obey him. You would know that if you were in your right mind.”

“My right mind? You dare - It appears I have made a grave error in my choice of future successor if he believes he can insult me without consequence.”

A loose piece of Thor’s hair was pulled from a braid, the breeze holding it up nearly horizontally. “No insult, Father. I merely state the truth. It would be best if you retired for the evening.” His hand moved to rest on the pommel of his hammer.

Odin’s fury increased tenfold at the sight. “My own son would take arms against me? How can you bear such dishonour?”

The wind flicked beads of sweat off the Einherjar's brows and rattled their helms and spears. Thor’s hair was coming looser and looser from his tied ponytail, yet he cocked his head as if all were still and calm. With some small relish, he regurgitated a line familiar to Odin - a saying he had spoken often to his children. “It is a poor and lazy farmer who blames the harvest for its disappointing yield.”

The anger was like a living fire in his veins. It burned through to his stomach, wiping his mind clean of everything that was not fury and frustration. “You mock my teachings? Perhaps you need a lesson that is more than words!”

A hurricane roared into being around Odin, knocking over the towers of trophies and sweeping the spoils of wars into a vortex, spinning around the Vault and colliding with men being dragged off their feet. There were shouts, sparks as metal struck metal and armour glanced off stone walls. Unperturbed in the storm's eye, Odin witnessed the calamity with satisfaction. It felt almost a relief to let his powers escape like this.

Thor remained rooted to the spot, stubbornly smiling. He pulled Mjolnir free and slammed it against the ground, sending a shockwave out against the gale. It dispersed, raining its contents into the waterways that outlined the room.

“You men can go,” he shouted to the Einherjar. “It seems my father needs the state of reality explained to him a little more forcefully.”

Already Odin was raising his hands, calling forth an ethereal fire into his palm. He lobbed it towards his son, who ducked to one side just fast enough to escape. Guards ran past, but Thor didn’t spare them a glance. “I always wanted to test my mettle against yours, Father. Let this be the moment I prove that I’ve surpassed you.”

“Contumelious cur!” Odin spat. "You will learn that it will take more than misplaced arrogance to surpass the War-King of Asgard!” Several more shots of ethereal fire peppered the walls as Thor leapt about the confined space. “I have earned that title on a thousand bloody battlefields against a thousand enemies who used to have that blood inside them!”

“The best place for an enemy’s blood is anywhere but in him, I quite agree!” Thor whooped, sending a bolt of lighting to catch a fire lob midair. It exploded in a burst of blinding light. “I have done much to achieve such beneficial separation, for the good of Asgard’s safety! Is that not proof enough that I am a worthy successor, Father?”

Odin was already breathing hard. How could so little have winded him? He fought against the unexpected weakness with a snarl. The next ball of fire he summoned he kept in his grasp. His tightened his grip about it, condensing the energy into a single point of light. What objects remained in the vault suddenly pulled towards the pinprick as gravity shifted. The would-be-king’s eyes widened.

“Father, is that…Father, are you making a STAR underneath the palace?” Thor gaped. “That’s…that’s not a good place for a star!”

Odin held up the pinprick, arm unwavering. “I am God of Skies! I am Odin, Maker of Worlds and Destroyer of Suns. I am the All-Father, and if I want a star somewhere, that star is damn well going to be there, and it will be a very fine one!”

The relics suddenly rocked backwards, released from the gravitational pull. Odin frowned, looking up. His star was encased in a glowing green orb. It tugged backwards, snapping the All-Father’s connection to fly to Thor’s side.

“Brother, I can’t hold this for very long,” someone said from atop the stairs. “Use Mjölnir to absorb it.”

Thor didn’t hesitate. With a mighty swing, he connected with the bauble and the light within. The hammer glowed, crackled, and the air warmed alarmingly in an instant. The star vanished with a flash and the stench of ozone.

“Now…what in Yggdrasil is going on?”

Odin whirled around to face the impertinent interruptor. He swayed, uncertain again for a brief instant. He looked at the figure. Then he glanced at his surroundings, at the chaos and destruction. At the Casket, tipped on its side, lying between them.

 _“You,”_ he growled. “How could you do this, Loki?”

Loki froze. “Beg pardon?”

“Do you think being God of Wisdom is a moniker I bought at some _Tsarkardian_ Galactic Bazaar? Only a few know the branches of Yggdrasil and how to open the way to them, Loki. And only one would stand to benefit from one such opening appearing in the Vault the day before his brother’s coronation.”

Thor looked from Odin to Loki. “Father, why -“

Odin snapped his attention back to Thor. “HRRRGH!” he snarled, silencing him. He returned his gaze to his second son. “You risked the safety of your people, the safety of your world, the safety of the Nine Realms you are sworn to protect - all to disrupt your brother’s achievement? Out of petty jealousy and spite?”

Loki's eyes darted from his father to Thor and back again. Considering. Calculating. Maybe, slightly - panicking. His features moved from blank to composed. Preparing for the performance.

“Yes, that’s right. The Coronation is today. And we are very late for it. We should be getting dressed at this very moment.”

“What are you talking about -“ Thor hissed.

Loki shot a glare at him and spoke with gritted teeth. “And you are the latest of all of us, Brother. You should be with Mother in the Coronation Hall, greeting the guests and Lords on this most auspicious of days.”

Thor’s brow furrowed in distaste. “If you think I’m going to play along with this lie -“

Loki interrupted, speaking like some flustered organizer at a party directing guests.“There isn’t time for this - we must be going to the Coronation. Everything’s fine, no one is hurt, no harm is done. Or not yet, anyway - if we start the ceremony late the feast may go cold, and who knows what Volstagg will do in retaliation - “

Thor narrowed his eyes. “There _was_ a disturbance on my Coronation Day, wasn’t there? Father said he took care of it, told me not to worry…were you behind that, Loki?”

“That’s irrelevant,” The younger brother snapped. “Father needs our help - ”

Odin cut through Loki’s unending guff. “Don’t try to excuse this as mere mischief, Loki. This goes far beyond that. Allowing Frost Giants into the heart of Asgard - men could have been killed. Weapons could have been taken, peace could have been threatened - “ he advanced on his younger son, eye burning in condemnation.

Thor rounded on his brother. “Explain what he’s talking about, Loki. What did you do?”

“It was just a bit of fun,” Loki said dismissively. “It doesn’t _matter_ anymore, it was millennia ago.”

“I think it matters,” rumbled Thor. “I think it matters a great deal if my own brother tried to keep me from being king.”

“Delay. I meant to _delay_ your becoming king. You were clearly unfit at the time. I meant to spare you the burden of rule for a few short years, long enough for you to temper yourself -“

The thunder god interrupted with a raised voice that earned the appellative. “And now? Do you think me fit now, _snake?”_

Loki’s face twisted in irritation. “You are King. It hardly matters what a soon-to-be-demoted Third Prince thinks, does it?”

“It does if I turn my back to him and expect it to remain knife-free.” Thor took a step towards his sylphish sibling.

Loki raised his hands, half-calming, half in preparation for a blow. “Rest assured, Brother, I have had thousands of opportunities to stymie you, and yet all I have done is help you achieve your objectives. No matter how asinine and ill-advised they may be.”

“Oh, and what about when you deliberately overextended our supply chain during the Lim-quay Nebula Campaign so that we’d be forced to retreat to the waystation and attack from behind, which was what you wanted all along, even though I expressly forbid such dishonourable behaviour? Or when you convinced the Queen of Stent that you were the true power behind the throne and signed all those treaties and trade deals, all without consulting me or the Council -“

 _What are they talking about?_ Odin fumed. _It’s like they’ve forgotten I am here!_

Loki shrugged dismissively. “You said you were uninterested, I merely took over the frivolous details -“

“You wish to see me a figurehead while you run things in the fine print _behind_ the fancy chair, do you not?” Thor accused. “You were doing exactly that on Queeg in the negotiations. Undermining me, speaking for all of Asgard…”

“You told me to know my place, Brother. And I do,” Loki sneered. "I’ve always done the things you find _unpalatable_ or _uninteresting,_ and yes, there is power in those places, because they are the duties of the _King!_ If you were interested in all aspects of the role, they would be your powers, but the one bit of wisdom you seem capable of is knowing that you are ill-suited to most of the political and administrative responsibilities of your role. Now, excuse me while I do yet another task you’d rather not.“ Loki turned fully towards Odin and finished his short journey to his side. “Come along, Father. We need to prepare for the evening.” He reached out to take the All-Father’s shoulder, meaning to pull him towards the stairs -

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” shouted Odin. With a jolt, he knocked Loki’s hand aside and scrabbled backwards, splashing into the water at the edge of the room.

The brothers stared, shocked.

“You mustn’t…mustn’t touch me,” Odin hissed, holding his shoulder as if it had been burned.

“Why not?” Thor asked.

“I…because…because he simply _must not,_ ” Odin commanded.

“That’s not a real reason,” Thor said bullishly.

“Brother, _please,”_ Loki groaned. But there was an edge under the exasperation. A faint note of hurt. He shook his head and doubled-down on his critique of his brother. “You’ve got to stop _questioning_ these things and just go along with them until he forgets and it’s over with.”

“I will not encourage Father’s delusions!” Thor retaliated. “You’re going to make them worse -“

“That is not what I am -“

“Your Maj-majesties,” interrupted an unexpected voice.

The feuding twosome glanced towards the sound. Collapsed between the wall and a large, stone plinth was Sigfried, Captain of the Einherjar. He had been unnoticeable until they stood at this angle. He shakily raised a hand and waved a little. “Hello,” he gasped.

Both brothers looked down. Sigfried was lying in the water feature that made up the perimeter of the room. Well, it had been the water feature - he was dyeing it a dark red, meaning everything downstream of him was a blood feature.

“Oh,” Thor said.

“Dear,” Loki agreed.

“Ow,” Sigfried concurred.

“Who are you? What are you all doing in my Vault?” Odin growled.

The three men had barely a chance to respond before a ring of fire exploded out from Odin.

“Trespassers! Thieves!” he labelled them with a roar, summoning more starfire to his hands.

The blonde man rallied quickly, returning Odin’s roar with his own. Meanwhile, the smaller, dark intruder attempted various spells of imprisonment and capture, but Odin was not so easy to out-magic. He crushed each in turn and delighted to see the look of vexation on the sorcerer’s face turn to dawning fear. The delight of upstaging him nearly distracted Odin from the other man raising his hammer aloft. The lightning moved fast, but Odin’s fire was little slower.

Fire and thunder clashed in booming splendour. The blast ricocheted into the ceiling, sending blocks of stone hailing down. There was a yelp and a brief flash of green light - the mage was gone, buried in the rubble. The two were clearly more a liability to each other than an asset.

Odin felt slightly feverish with battle-hunger. How fortunate that he should happen to be in the Vault just as these tragic fools thought to relieve Asgard of her war-prizes. It had been too long since he’d last…last fought…when had he fought like this last…?

Nevermind. The beefy bruiser was putting up a wonderful show - he enjoyed this in the way Odin himself did. It would almost be a shame to kill him. The reverberating gong of his somewhat impressive hammer as they wove a duet of blows against each other - it was music that he could _dance_ to.

The brute was laughing now, spinning his hammer in a whirl to deflect Odin’s gout of flame.

Perhaps he didn’t need to hold back so much…who really needed a vault anyway, why not just really let loose, give it all he had. He’d been stewing for far too long, all this power and never the chance to let loose. Well, now he was free, free to do as he please and what he pleased was to -

“ODIN BORSON. Just _what_ do you think you’re doing to our son?!”

Odin stumbled, fire instantly steaming away in his hands. His opponent, too, seemed struck by the image of the person clambering out of the debris. Her hair was a mess, her face caked in dust and twisted in disapproval - but she was still as beautiful and angry as the day he met her.

“Frigga…” breathed Odin. His heart soared, some dark fog he’d been unaware of seeming to lift from it.

Frigga dusted off her dress with a scowl. “I don’t want to hear it, Odin! You brought down a _ceiling_ on me!”

Odin looked around at the destruction, blinking. Had he done this? “I…I did not know you were here, dear,” he nearly stammered.

She arched a brow. “That does not seem to be the case now.”

“I suppose not,” Odin agreed.

Thor was snapping his head back and forth between them as if watching a sports match. “What is this trickery-“

Frigga held up a hand. A deep impulse to obey seized Thor, clamming him up.

She smiled. “Now that everyone has gotten the violence out of their system, I think we all should retire for the evening. Come along, Husband.” She glided over to the stairs purposefully, turning at their base. A twinkle glimmered teasingly in her eyes. "Or I’ll use my witch’s eye on the lot of you.”

Odin grinned ruefully, clasping his hands behind his back and wandering over to stand next to her. She slipped her arm through his and they made their way up the stairs together, and if he leaned on her a little heavily she was careful not to let it show in their gait. She was as poised and in control as always.

He wanted to tell her that he’d missed her. That was silly, of course; it wasn’t like she’d been gone. When they got to the top of the stairs he hugged her close, a brief, extemporaneous need seizing him. For a moment, she seemed to resist, and Odin feared she hadn’t forgiven him for the ceiling-coming-down-on-her thing. Then she softened and gently wrapped her arms around him, returning it.

“Just warn me the next time you want to redecorate the Vault and I won’t stand in the middle of it next time,” she murmured. “It _was_ a bit dour, I suppose. A skylight may be just what it needs.”

“Indeed,” chortled Odin.

Thor started up the stairs, expression accusing. “How could you, Loki. Using the image of our mother for such a -“

Frigga flicked her hand at Thor. He gasped silently, clawed at his throat, then gagged. He tested his jaw. Flicked his tongue. Attempted to shout and only turned a very quiet shade of mauve from the effort. Finally, he glared at Frigga with naked aggravation. Odin frowned at him. That was no way to treat his mother.

“A temporary spell to get you to listen,” Frigga said tightly. "Loki is otherwise occupied with tasks that you should have been doing already. Do you think that your father really couldn’t tell the two of us apart? The Witch-King would see through any such thing. And don’t you have some cleaning up -“ she nodded towards a plinth behind him meaningfully. “-to do?”

Thor glanced at the plinth, expression shifting. He disappeared behind it for a moment, emerging the next with a bloody soldier in his arms. The boy lost no time on his father now; he moved quickly up the stairs and hurried off in the direction of the infirmary.

“That looked quite nasty,” Odin remarked. “What happened?”

“Nothing to worry about. It’s over now,” Frigga soothed, leading him down the opposite hallway.

And yet Odin could not help but look behind them. He saw the spatters of blood and listened to the pounding footfalls of his son running with concern only for speed and not decorum. He wondered if this odd sense of guilt that had returned to its familiar place in his chest had anything to do with any of it.

“Forget about it, Dear,” urged Frigga, pulling him around the corner.

Once he could no longer see any of it, it was only a few steps more until he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel very lucky to have readers, to be honest. I realize I am a) writing about a character to whom many have mixed feelings in the fandom, b) going down many a rabbit hole and am happily adding my own ideas into the mix, while c) not really letting anyone look terribly good and not providing much catharsis in the short-term. 
> 
> Really, I am so glad for anyone willing to put up with that. Every comment is incredibly heartening, and I've gotten so many exciting and engaged ones lately. (Woodelf, you've no idea how much I enjoy your doting on Huginn below). Thank you, everybody. I hope I can provide some distraction and delight.


	9. A Thief in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disguised, Loki seeks to discover the truth of the Garden. An unrecognizable Odin has answers for questions Loki would have never asked.

**The RAVEN**

* * *

_“Do this, do that…never any rest for wicked birds…”_ Huginn muttered to himself as he ascended through the palace, dodging through corridors and up stairwells, leaving Odin and the Vault far below.

He never liked descending into the Vault; the weight of Asgard above seemed to crush down on him. When at last he spotted the sun shining through an open archway, he plunged through it eagerly, wings tight to his sides to increase his speed before opening wide to catch the thermals off the warm palace. Up, up, up he went, Asgard becoming small and insignificant beneath him.

And yet he still felt heavy, every wingbeat an effort.

_…place a burden upon your wings, that I may journey lighter…_

He choked, spitting up something gold. Before it escaped his beak, he swallowed, trying to force it back down. It resisted, lodging in his throat.

Huginn choked.

Asgard was so far away, but getting closer, faster and faster…

Huginn did not see it. Gold spread through his vision, pulling him away from thoughts of falling. It was warm, and safe, like sidling up to his brother and letting their downy black feathers touch…

ᚼ

_"Over, under, over, over, under - over? Does that look right? Odin, stop tapping on that chair and look at this -“_

_Od beat out another few notes to finish the tune before sauntering over to see his mother’s handiwork. Cul turned his head as much as he was able to and shot his brother a look of pleading desperation._

_Od couldn’t help it; he laughed._

_“It’s not that bad, is it?” Cul and Bestla said in unison._

_As was his compunction, he answered the question with another question. “How long has it been since you braided someone’s hair, Mother?”_

_Bestla sighed and undid her work on Cul’s braids. “At least there’s still a few days before the ceremony to get it right. You don’t mind me practising a little more, do you, Dear?”_

_“No, Mother,” Cul assured her, though he had to suppress a grunt of pain as she pulled at his hair. “It’s…all for me, after all. It’ll help me think of you when I’m out there.”_

_Od’s smile flickered briefly. Neither noticed. He cleared his throat. “What, you won’t be thinking of me, dear Brother?”_

_Cul groaned. “No doubt you’ll haunt me like an earworm, Little Brother.”_

_Od clutched his chest in mock shock. “Earworm? How dare you. My musical talents won’t be so unjustly discounted! I shall compose you a farewell song that will bring you strength when you are weak and courage when you are afraid!”_

_“As long as it’s a bit annoying and goes round and round in my head begging for attention, it will surely remind me of you, Od,” Cul smiled._

_“Better than being forgettable,” Od said with a shrug._

_Before they could continue, the door opened and Bor walked in. “Still practising the Åldrasbraid, Bestla?”_

_“You’d think with all my experience with weaving, I’d get it right,” she frowned, picking up Cul’s dark locks again. “But I suppose I’ve grown too lazy, relying on maids.”_

_“At least Cul’s hair is straight and clean,” Od remarked blithely, mind already half-returned to composing the song he’d been working on that day. “Imagine if you had to braid Gefjun’s hair. It had a mind of its own, all those curls…”_

_The tapping of his hands echoed into sudden silence. He looked up._

_Bor’s eyes were blazing, somehow redder than his beard. Cul and Bestla stared at Od in mute horror._

_Od just waited._

_“How…how dare you…” Bor seethed. “You know better than to talk about…you cast a shadow into this happy moment…Can’t you let her rest in peace?”_

_The ground rumbled ominously. Od reached out for a wall to steady himself._

_Bor took a breath, only wheezing a little. The shuddering stopped. “You are a public figure, boy. That means you have to be trusted to know what not to say and when not to say it. If you can’t do that even within your own family, then you certainly can’t be trusted in front of all of Asgard.” Bor clanged Gungnir against the stone floor. “You are hereby banned from attending Cul’s Coming-of-Age ceremony. In fact, you are hereby banned from seeing him at all, until you do a little growing up of your own.”_

_“Bor!” protested Bestla, starting to get up. “It will be years until Cul returns to us -“_

_“Norns willing, it will be long enough for his brother to have learned a little respect for his family’s pain and loss,” growled Bor. “Borson!” he snapped at Cul. "You have other preparations to attend to. Your mother can practice her braiding on her other son. If he can even manage the task of staying still.”_

_The king left, each of his footfalls like a rock falling down a mountain. Cul stood, hurriedly shaking out his hair. “I’ll speak with him,” he promised as he ran out after their father._

_Od watched them go with half-lowered lids. When their footsteps faded, he shrugged and went back to tapping out a beat on his leg again._

_“Oh, Od,” Bestla sighed. “Why must you antagonize your father so? You know he is still grieving.”_

Yes, why must you keep rubbing salt in the wound? _Od thought to himself._ Is it because you don’t want it to close? To keep your Father bleeding?

_But outside, he only smiled. “Oh, Mother, you know he shouldn’t take me so serious-“_

ᚼ

The memory abruptly ended. Huginn stared emptily ahead, not yet remembering he was a raven. Nearly too late, he became aware of the roar of the wind and the quickly-growing expanse of golden roof hurtling towards him.

With a surprised caw, he opened his wings, muscles straining. He levelled off nearly a second too late, his pinions skimming the hot tiles. A mere inch away was his reflection in the gold - and the painful fate of becoming one with it, if he hadn’t woken in time.

But for a moment, even as he still fought for control of the air, it was as if there were two ravens again.

Then the roof ran out.

Replaced with a tree.

There wasn’t enough space to avoid it. He hit the trunk with a crunch, which he hoped was mostly smaller branches and not his own fragile bones. He crumpled and fell with a squawk into the garden below, breaking his fall on a bunch of Pheasant’s-Eye flowers.

He lay there, watching the sky spin above him.

Eventually, the capacity for thought returned to him.

_Stupid. Very stupid._

It wasn’t a very useful thought.

He tried to search his mind for the other half of the memory that had so rudely interrupted his flight. But he couldn’t find it. It just…ended. And the memories that should have been connected to it, like strings in a spider’s web, had also vanished.

_First stupid, then losing my mind. Not even Huginn’s mind to begin with. But losing it all the same._

Huginn began to try and stand again, though he yearned to rest in the grass a little longer. Unfortunately, his disorientation caused him to flop and fall over twice more, leaving him panting only inches from where he’d fallen.

_Stupid weakness. Important things to do. If only little pain stop me now, greater pain in future._

He raised his head far enough off the ground to seize at his third primary feather, left-wing. His eyes narrowed. He pulled.

The feather came loose, followed by a bolt of pain.

He staggered to his feet again, triumphantly, and before he could fall seized and plucked the matching feather on his right side, to ensure he could still fly in balance.

 _Muninn gone,_ he reminded himself as he spat the feathers out. _Can’t be just weak little Huginn anymore._

He began to flap, and soon the pain in his wings faded.

_If memories lost, then I will find again. Make whole._

_Cannot be stupid raven anymore. Must be more. More than Huginn. More than Muninn. More than both together. Must be myself._

The rook took flight again, a little wobblier than before, but once he was in the air he was soon a distant ᛊ, banking back towards the palace.

Beneath the tree, the abandoned feathers quivered in the breeze. One tumbled deeper into the undergrowth. With a faint hiss, it dissolved into smoke and light.

The other feather, left behind, lingered only a little longer.

**LOKI**

* * *

He hated doing this. It was so easy now - which only made it worse.

Odin’s furry glove in his hand felt strangely childish. It was entirely trusting, allowing Loki - Frigga - to lead him forward without question. It was hard to believe that only moments before his gormless face had worn a grimace, illuminated by a handful of fire.

Without thinking about it, his grip hardened. As if he could keep Odin sane if he merely held on to him tight enough.

“You’re hurting me,” Odin said, his voice noticeably higher and childlike.

Loki forced himself to relax. “I’m sorry, Dearheart,” he said, his mother’s name for Odin dripping easily from his mouth.

“Where are we going?” Odin asked.

Loki’s hand was itching again; probably irritated by the fur of the gloves. _I think the better question is where have you been, Father, that you needed a warm hat and gloves?_ “Back to our room, Dearheart,” he said instead.

Odin puckered in a near-parody of a pout. “But I can’t. I’ve got to go out.”

These expressions just looked _wrong_ on him. As if his father were a borrowed suit being worn by a child.

 _I say that even as I wear my mother. I_ **_am_** _a child in a suit; or in this case, a dress._

Loki steeled himself against the thoughts as soon as they occurred to him; he was doing what he had to do. Not every problem had an elegant solution; and all in all, wasn’t this less cruel? Thor would have come to blows with Odin, but this way no-one had to be hurt.

_Captain Sigfried…what to do about that?_

He would take steps. Speak with the Einherjar, make sure it was clear that their captain had been injured in an accident. Tell them to be more careful around Odin.

Everything was going to be fine. And if it wasn’t, he’d make it so.

They’d arrived at the royal apartments, where a goblet of mead had been left on a table outside. Sven deserved a raise.

“Let’s go in, shall we?” he said sweetly as he bent down to pick it up.

“Mmmmm…no.” Odin shook his head. “I have to do something else.”

“No,” Loki-Frigga sighed. “You don’t. You did everything you needed to do today. And more than that besides. Come, we need to get ready for bed.”

“Don’t want to!” Odin disagreed. “You’re not my mother! You can’t make me!”

Loki raised Frigga’s hand to her face and rubbed it in a long-suffering way. “Is that all?” she asked. When she pulled her hand away again, the face behind it had shifted.

The incredibly ancient portraits of Bestla that hung around Asgard were hardly the best material to draw from when it came to this kind of illusion. Still, they had at least contained a few different angles, and Loki was a talented enough artist to approximate the rest.

Bestla smiled a perfectly recreated smile. “Now, do as I say and get inside.”

Odin stared at her, perplexed - then something clicked into place. His posture shifted into a slouch. He rolled his eye. “ _Alright,_ fine. I suppose there is a risk that Father will see me out here and think of something else to ban me from.”

And with that strange pronouncement, Odin threw open the doors and strode inside.

Loki-as-Bestla followed, making sure to lock the doors with an additional spell. In the main receiving room, Odin was already lounging on the settee, legs up on the table in front of it. When he caught sight of Bestla, he quickly removed them, feigning an innocent expression. Loki resisted the urge to sigh.

 _So that’s where Thor gets that from,_ he thought as he put down the goblet of drugged mead where the boots had been.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked brightly.

Odin twisted a finger through his hair and shrugged, the picture of pre-pubescent disaffectedness. “Not really.” He pulled the hair through his hand and presented it to Bestla. “Do you still want to practice braiding hair? That’s something I can still do for Cul’s Coming-of-Age.”

 _Cul…?_ Loki’s curiosity piqued. The only time he could even remember Odin mentioning Cul before was when, as a child, Loki had once asked who else in their family had had black hair.

_“My brother did. Wore it very long, too - it was longer than I was tall, back then…”_

When Loki had eagerly pressed his father as to what had happened to this new-found uncle, Odin refused to say more. The only evidence Loki had ever found of Cul Borson’s existence was a faded scorch mark on the painting of their family tree. He’d been clever enough to guess what that meant and asked no more questions.

But now…well, if Loki just happened to hear…curiosity had always been one of his greatest sins.

“How are you feeling about Cul?” he asked innocently.

Odin shrugged. One of his hands started tapping out a beat on the back of the settee. “I’m not worried. Cul’s always taken care of himself; I’m sure he’ll kill a few dozen monsters on Alfheim, become so beloved by every citizen there that several dozen children are named after him, and return a hero to raucous applause and Father’s praise. Hel, Cul’s so charming the _monsters_ will likely name their children after him.”

While Odin was speaking, Loki subtly began preparations to put Odin to bed. With a gesture, he activated the spell to lower the lights in the room and curb the fire. Unfortunately, Huginn was still gone and couldn’t be settled, but there was little he could do about that.

At least he could take off the ridiculously inappropriate hat and gloves.

Odin continued as Loki reached out to pluck the furry monstrosity from his head.

“I mean, the whole thing is really a formality; Cul has always been mature, he doesn’t need to go anywhere to prove he’s ‘of age’…whatever that even means. I don’t see why he has to do it, especially with a war on and everything…”

Quick as a flash, Loki withdrew, taking the hat with him. His hand only lightly brushed Odin’s ear as he did. So triumphant was he of the successful de-hatting that he barely registered the faint tingle that had resulted from the contact.

_Perhaps tonight I can get him changed without him noticing or protesting, and I can go to bed before sunrise myself._

“War is a constant; boys become men only once,” Bestla remarked as she pocketed the hat with a flash of magic. Now for the gloves. She held out a hand, indicating Odin should give her his.

“What is taking so long, anyway? They’re just little Dark Elves,” Odin muttered as he ignored Loki, preferring to still tap away on the settee. “Any one of our warriors is worth ten of theirs, and yet centuries later the war drags on and on.”

 _Dark Elves?_ The only Dark Elves Loki could think of came not from history books, but from fairytales. From what he could recall, the Dark Elves were masked creatures who preferred guerrilla tactics to full-out war. When Bor had defeated them, they’d run their ships into their own planet, devastating it and all their race in one last attempt to scar Asgard. If it weren’t for the living Light Elves of Alfheim still holding vigils for their lost brothers every ten centuries or so, Loki would have thought them only bedtime beasties.

“The war will be won,” Loki said with certainty. “Have faith in the strength of Asgard.”

“Asgard’s strength...but not Bor’s strength…” muttered Odin.

“What was that?” Loki said in a neutral tone. He watched his father carefully, looking for hints of how Bestla was expected to act. He knew Frigga wouldn’t have liked such disrespectful talk.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Odin shrugged and returned to his tapping.

“Hmm.” Loki snagged one of Odin’s hands and tugged the glove off before he could protest.

Odin jumped at the contact, trying to snatch his hand back. “Mum, I can take off my own gloves,” he protested.

“But you haven’t yet,” tutted Bestla, grasping his wrist tight as she reached for his other hand.

Loki’s skin began to tingle, as if he were holding a hive of fire ants instead of father’s wrist.

Panic in his eyes, Odin tugged free.

Loki stared at his hand. His hand. Not Bestla’s. His glamour had been torn right off him……his other hand was still disguised, and his clothing remained the fine dress he had seen in grandmother’s painting. He quickly withdrew the revealed hand into her sleeve.

Odin appeared not to have noticed. He was playing with his one remaining glove and refusing to make eye contact with his mother.

“Odin,” Bestla said reproachfully. “What did you do?”

Odin squirmed, looking left and right before eventually settling with a sigh. “I should have known you would notice, Mother.”

Golden light washed over Odin. A glamour being removed. If Odin had looked tired before, now he looked worn to the nub. But that was not all.

Loki gaped. “Blood?” he said faintly, his concern and Bestla’s melting into one. “What on Midgard…when did this happen? Is it when you ran off? Where did you go - who did this to you -“

Instinctively he reached out towards Odin, meaning to turn his head and examine the wound.

Odin, nimbler, leaned away, covering it with one wrinkled palm and shaking his head. “It’s nothing, Mother, nothing…can’t even remember how I got it.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Bestla and Loki said reprovingly.

“I’ll see Healer Unna later,” Odin promised.

Bestla made a most unladylike-like snort. _Healer Unna is a pile of dust in a crypt somewhere, but even if she were here and hale and hearty I still don’t believe you’d keep that promise._ The guilty look on Odin’s face was confirmation.

How strange, to glimpse his father’s past in such a way. It was something like a badly put-together stage show, his elderly father hilariously miscast in the role of his child self. Yet the open earnestness of his father’s face was oddly refreshing to the inscrutable, untouchable figure Loki knew.

Bestla arched an eyebrow. “I didn't raise a liar, did I?” she said, but the words were Frigga’s.

 _Still borrowing your mother to manipulate your father?_ hissed a thought.

 _It’s for his own good,_ Loki shot back at it. _Look at what he’s done to himself._

“Magic's not a lie,” Odin mumbled. “I really do feel fine. Besides, I…think I did a pretty good job. Only you noticed. I know magic isn’t proper for a boy or a king’s son…but I can’t do the things you and Father and Cul can do.”

Deep in Bestla’s warm brown eyes, Loki’s own blue flashed. Taking another note from his mother, he folded his hands in his lap and waited expectantly. Sure enough, Odin was compelled to continue, as Loki had always felt when taking his troubles to Frigga.

“Does the water speak to you, Mother? The same way that earth speaks to Father and the animals speak to Cul?”

 _So Odin was a later bloomer,_ Loki thought. _I wonder when he discovered his command over the wind and sky._ That moment had never come for Loki at all. If Frigga hadn’t shared her gifts with him…well, even with that, it had been hard to compete with the lightshow that was Thor whenever he so much as wore woolen socks on carpet. How curious to imagine that Odin himself might have once felt similarly, however impermanently.

He tried to remember if Thor had ever spoken about how he communed with the storm, and imagined how that might have been felt by Bestla and her apparent connection to water itself. “It is…always there. I feel the…ebb and flow in my veins, a part of my being. It is me, and I am the water.”

 _Put more elegantly than Thor ever did, but I believe that was the gist of it,_ Loki recalled.

Eventually he’d realized he was built for…more indoor sorts of elements. When it came to something flashier, well, at least magic’s reputation had improved enough since Odin’s time that he didn’t have to hide his mastery of it, even if it still lacked the respect a bloody bolt of lightning commanded for some reason.

Loki tried to smile reassuringly. “Your day will come. In time. And when it does, all of Asgard will tremble at your might. They will know you are your father’s son - and mine.”

Odin nodded, and it was easy to picture him as a child, still long from coming of age. But no child was innocent, and there was something still lingering in his eye...

“Are you envious of your brother?” Loki asked before he could stop himself.

“What sort of small and pathetic creature would envy a brother who has only sought to protect him?” Odin shrugged. “Honestly, I’m grateful - no one expects much of me. I’m free. But Cul…he doesn’t belong to himself. Or even to his family…” Odin trailed off, a look of confusion fighting with one of guilt on his face. As if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d allowed himself to say.

 _Why are you letting a disease lay bare your father’s secrets?_ hissed Loki’s thoughts. _Is it because it makes you think that perhaps you aren’t so different after all? That at least if you are not alike in strengths of character, you might at least share some flaws? Do you think that somehow makes you closer?_

Odin cleared his throat. “…I…I’ve been working on a song. For Gef. At least that’s something I can do…for her.”

Loki didn’t doubt his sentiment was genuine, but the abrupt change in subject was no doubt an evasion; it was a favourite tactic of his own. Now he wondered if he’d worked that out himself, or if the inclination was genetic. But perhaps it as best to move on; it would not do to continue

 _Gef? Short for Gefjun, probably._ Loki tried to remember the tapestry of the family tree again. _My aunt?_ he hazarded. _Although Odin mentioned having a sister even less than he did of his brother. Her name is unblighted, at least. Though the branch certainly bore as little fruit._

“Father just wants to forget she ever existed. But I won’t.” Odin tapped louder, finding his beat. “I’m going to make sure her name is known throughout the Realms and beyond. In a song, she can live forever. It will be the best song I ever make, and that will be saying something, for I intend to write as many as there are stars in Yggdrasil.”

Loki wondered again at the bizarreness of it. It was rare to hear his father sing at all - in fact, he could not recall an instance in the last ten centuries. To think that in his youth he was an aspiring skald. It seemed too… _gaudy_ a childhood dream for such a reserved man, one who carefully weighed every word he spoke.

Odin tilted his head back and closed his eyes. His beard opened, and a most strange sound began to escape him. It seemed an attempt at song, but mangled in some way - perhaps because an old man’s deep and cracked voice was trying in earnest to hit the high notes of a boy.

_“Red hair, like bloody sunrise_

_Blue eyes, like stormy sea-skies_

_Green thumb, raise green plants high_

_Loud voice, calling in the dark_

_Silenced, though still I hark -_

_Where did you go, Sister Mine?_

_How I miss your heart’s shine...“_

It was undeniably amateurish. Loki couldn’t help but feel a pang of second-hand embarrassment for his father.

 _Must his humiliation be utterly complete to satisfy you?_ chided his thoughts.

He turned away as Odin continued to sing in sad, broken falsetto. _Such long-passed grief is no business of yours But not all his secrets are so…_

_The garden. The trees. The hidden thing beneath them all._

_The way you've itched and writhed since this morning._

He clenched the hidden hand in his sleeve, remembering the sensation when he’d come into contact with the glamour proved that he was reacting to Odin’s magic in an unnatural way.

_There are things you have a right to know about. Ask those things._

Loki swallowed. Such questions wouldn’t come from Bestla.

His hands shook slightly as he raised them in front of Bestla’s face, hiding the brief flicker of green light. He emerged from them again as Frigga.

_“ - Red hair, like bloody sunrise_

_Blue eyes, like stormy sea-skies -“_

Frigga cleared her throat loudly. “I went to the garden today, Husband,” she began.

Odin trailed off, looking at her in confusion.

“I went to the grove. To visit the…place. By the trees. They aren’t looking very well.” She watched for Odin’s reaction. “You haven’t been there in some time. Have you forgotten what we left there?”

Odin stilled. He opened his mouth, seeming to struggle to speak. Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, his face suddenly went slack. He collapsed into the settee and didn’t move.

“Husband?” Frigga said, a note of alarm in her voice.

No response.

Loki hurriedly leaned forward, reaching out across the space between them, worry beginning to dawn in his eyes. “Fath-“ he began.

He’d barely brushed his shoulder when Odin suddenly reared back with a gasp, his one eye wide and staring. “DON’T HURT MEEE!” he screeched, suddenly cowering. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I didn’t - please, not the box, it’s so dark - please!”

Loki flinched in shock, Frigga’s mouth hanging open. Slowly, he realized Odin wasn’t even looking at him - he was staring at some fixed point in the air, several feet above any Asgardian’s eyeline.

Odin had splayed his limbs wide, covering the entire piece of furniture. “I won’t fit like this,” he cackled, deranged-sounding. “Whatcha going to do now, eh?”

He held his maniacal grin for a full five seconds. Then it slid off his face and the fear paled him once more and he withdrew his arms and legs into himself.

“No…don’t cut them off…I’ll fit, I’ll fit in the box, all of me can, I promise, I’ll be good, please -“

Before Loki could even think of approaching him again, Odin suddenly sprang from the couch and ran deeper into the apartments, knocking things over as he went. Still in Frigga’s guise, Loki rose to follow, pausing to swoop up the drugged goblet from the table.

Odin had disappeared down the long, shadowy hallway that was the main trunk of the apartment. Loki’s eyes didn’t have time to adjust to the gloom before a door slammed and he was left having to guess which of the many rooms Odin had hidden within.

Loki couldn’t suppress a small sigh. _Not_ **_again._**

The bedroom at the end seemed the obvious one. He hurried to it and reached to pull it open.

As he did so, a memory came back to him. One of his very first, and yet somehow it struck him now with more vibrance and detail than he could have summoned to describe his breakfast of yesterday.

It began much like the last childhood memory he recalled - running out of the nursery in the middle of the night, panicked and desperately needing to not be alone. He’d rushed down this very hallway, right to the bedroom at the very end and slipped in the door, expecting Mother and Father’s reassuring lumps to be there on the bed.

But just the same as now, the bed was empty - the room hollow.

In eerie tandem, he followed in the footsteps of the memory to the bathing room, though with much less haste.

The room was dark and quiet but for a leaking tap. Loki lingered a moment anyway, staring into the shadows. In the memory, there had been someone - Frigga, quietly preparing for the day ahead, though it was the middle of the night.

_A wave of relief went through the child; he rushed to her and lunged into her lap. She allowed him to wrap himself around her waist and cry into her fresh gown._

_The strangeness of the situation eventually penetrated his reassurance. When his throat had loosened enough to allow for speech, he asked “Why are you all dressed up, Mama?”_

_“It was cold in bed,” she said simply. “And I thought…I might go for a walk as well…”_

_“Will you take me with you, Mamma?”_

_“No…no, you cannot go where I am going.”_

_He tightened his grip around her, heart starting to pound again. “No. No, you can’t go, you can’t leave me -“_

_Something else occurred to him. He looked around wildly._

_“Where's Pabbi?” he demanded._

_Frigga didn't say anything. Tentatively, she reached out and touched his hair. “He…he’ll be back soon, Loki.”_

_“Back?” His little meaty hands loosened their grip on Frigga. “Pabbi can’t come back unless Pabbi is gone.”_

_“He always comes back. It will be like he never left,” Frigga said tiredly,_ and here Loki of the present wondered if she’d been speaking more to herself than her son.

_“He can’t be gone. Why - why would he go?” Loki panicked. Then it came to him - this was just like that game they’d played. Odin was only hiding. If he could find him, he’d gasp and shout and Thor would tackle him to the ground and hit him with a wooden mallet, and Odin would laugh and the terrible fear in Loki’s heart would be banished, as it always was when that happened._

_He slid down from Frigga’s lap and ran to the tub to peer inside. Empty. “Help me look,” he begged. “Help find Pabbi!”_

_But Frigga shook her head. “No, Loki,” she said, voice leaden. “He’s not here.”_

_“Stop trying to trick me! It’s not funny!” Loki cried, pulling at her skirt. “Come with me, Mamma!”_

_But Frigga only stared ahead at her own reflection in the mirror._

_“Stay here?” Loki told her, torn. “I’ll go look and bring him back. Don’t move!”_

_He withdrew slowly, still holding her dress. Still hoping against hope he could pull her out of her chair and keep her with him._

_But the fabric ran out and fell from his fingers._

Loki blinked. His arm, ironically the one still clad in Frigga’s guise, was outstretched into the dark room. He withdrew it, blinking fiercely. Never before had he experienced so vivid a recollection - there were details he’d never...he hadn’t recalled Frigga behaving like that at all. Not that this was a memory he usually...

He hurried out of the bedroom, locking the door to ensure Odin couldn’t slip back in while Loki checked the other rooms.

The old nursery had long since been converted into a storage room of sorts, though what it housed was valuable treasures and gifts from foreign dignitaries. It was so full that Loki was sure no old man could have possibly run through here. Too many delicate things seemed like they were looking for the first excuse to fall over with a very expensive crash. He locked that door, too.

_The door knobs were so very high, he could barely reach them. He had to jump and grasp, practically hanging off them when they swung open. “Pabbi!” he’d shout into each room - or he tried to. His throat was so tight that he could only manage a strangled, twisted noise._

Loki shook his head fiercely. _Concentrate._

Next was the spare bedroom, used only in such terrible times as when the Queen and King were at odds and Odin was banished from the bed. It was rare he spent longer than a week there at such times, for while Odin’s stubbornness was legendary, it always wilted in the face of Frigga’s dislike. (Although others would say that the Queen had ensured the spare mattress was especially hard, the pillows lumpy, and the heating spotty, which couldn’t hurt her persuasiveness.)

Odin had stayed in that room for an entire decade after he’d lost Frigga.

_“Where are you, Pabbi…” he whispered into the dark, again and again. “Please come out. I can’t find you. I’m not good enough at games. I give up, please, please, come out…”_

He locked it and moved on to the next door.

_“…I’m sorry.” Loki said as he felt around the dining room, touching chair after chair. “I’m sorry, Pabbi - I won’t do it again, I promise I won’t, I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll be good forever and you won’t have to leave ever again -“_

The dining chamber was still set for four people. Loki’s eyes lingered on Frigga’s place, as it always did when they used this room. He could never bear to move it from where she’d last left it, pulled out from the table. Sometimes Odin would talk to it when he and Loki supped there, and if Loki looked away it was easy to pretend that all was -

 _Click, clunk._ Locked.

Another door. Another cold room.

_Click, clunk._

_Click, clunk._

_Click -_

Loki stared into the contents of a humble closet. Empty.

Which only left the study.

Somehow, even now, he dreaded it. It was never a good thing to be summoned into the study. It meant he’d done something terrible enough to interrupt a king’s work. That rarely went well.

He opened the door.

The room was dark, but he knew immediately he had the right room. There was something off about it, though he couldn’t quite say what.

“Lights on,” he commanded the room-spell. The torches burst into life.

Odin’s imposing desk was the first thing he noticed. For a moment, he almost saw his father there, eye moving deliberately over various holograms and papers - and yet Loki would feel carefully observed nonetheless. He suppressed a shudder and looked away, searching the rest of the room. But something niggled in the rear of his mind. The desk wasn’t as it should be.

He approached it, frowning. Before he moved away again, something gave him pause. Even though it was a long time since the old All-Father had been expected to do any work, there were still a few scattered pieces of parchment upon it, lightly coated in dust. But in the corner of the desk was a single clean circle, as if something had been recently removed.

Clearly housekeeping needed a reminder, perhaps a very-carefully-worded and implication-filled one, to keep his father’s home hygienic. But secondly…what had been there?

Placing the goblet of drugged mead down on the desk, he recalled the frightening times he’d been summoned to this room and had wanted to look anywhere but at Odin. Luckily, there were all sorts of little distractions he could focus on. While Odin kept relics of great power secure in his vault for the good of Asgard, here he enjoyed collecting little curiosities from around the universe. On this table there should have been a pretty glass thing filled with constantly transforming crystals from a planet far beyond the Nine, or even the current Twelve. Loki had long suspected they reacted in some way to those nearby. Certainly the thing seemed prone to building its thorniest, ugliest fractals whenever he’d had to stand next to it, desperately trying not to confess to everything on the spot.

Was anything else missing? He looked again at the bookshelf he’d passed on the way in. The floating stone samples used to fly the wooden galleons of Ed’je’kronik should have been hovering above it. They were gone - all but for the smallest one, left lonely in an empty space. Beneath them should have been the pickled eye samples from Derek, the Living Moon - a creature that had covered the entire surface of its homeworld. All that was left was more circles in the dust. Beside them was an empty scabbard on the wall, which should have sheathed an ornamental blade so thin that it could cut the very air with the slightest movement.

Loki’s boot clacked against the floor - which wasn’t the sound it should make here. He looked down at the bare gold, realizing that here, by the fire, there should have been an elderly dragon skin.

As he was staring at the empty floor in confusion, the smallest of creaks came from behind him. Loki turned and stared, but saw only the empty desk. Which he’d already checked.

He turned towards the desk again. There was still nothing beneath it, yet there was nowhere else large enough to contain Odin. The cupboards were far too small…although…just to be sure…

Loki stood to the side and quickly opened the doors. With a thump, a very compressed Odin fell out, accompanied with a loud crash as a scaly bag in his grip hit the ground, spilling out the missing items.

“I ken explain! I’ isn' what i’ looks like, Ay’ve ben framed by thar no-good rat-eatin’ scutter Tilberious Tailless, yeh’ve gotta believe me - “

 _That isn’t All-Speak,_ Loki realized. The language and the accent were entirely foreign - he couldn’t even begin to place it. It was certainly a coarse one.

Odin ceased struggling to stare at Loki. “Hey, now. Thar's a pretty face ye got thar. Where did ye get that?”

Loki touched his face - no, Frigga’s face. He’d completely forgotten he was still wearing her guise. “From my mother,” he said honestly.

“Yeh don’ say,” Odin grinned. “What are yeh wantin’ with me, Missy?”

Loki’s stomach dropped. _Even Frigga’s face doesn’t bring him back to himself anymore?_

“I was…looking for someone,” he replied. “But I... don’t think you’re him.”

“Ah, curse m’ luck, ha ha. Seems ther only folk lookin’ fer me are creditors and bounty hunters, har har…” Odin spun the heavy wooden chair behind Odin’s desk as easily as a top, then sat in it with exaggerated casualness, swinging his feet up onto the desk. He leaned back, balancing the chair at a terrifying angle. “Woulda been a nice change to have so fine a lady after m’ company.

“Be careful,” Loki cautioned.

“Ach, i’ touches m’ heart to see a lady so concerned for m’ welfare.” Odin theatrically grasped his chest, leaning even further back.

It set Loki's teeth on edge.

 _This is not my father,_ he reminded himself. _Whoever he is, he has taken the man I know hostage. Any sudden moves and he may injure both or either of us._

“So, who arr yeh, exactly, aside from pretty?” The stranger grinned.

“Frigga Fjörgynndottir,” Loki said, unable to hide a hopeful note in his voice as he said the name.

But Odin’s eye remained dark and unmoved.

“Now _tha’s_ a posh name,” the stranger whistled. “Wha’s a lady wi’ a plummy name like tha’ doin’ on a planet like this?

“What’s wrong with this planet?” Frigga asked, still watching the chair wobble on its hind legs with rising worry.

“Thar’s a rather nasty infestation of scoundrels, villains, thieves and rogues, Miss. They say i’s chronic.”

“And which are you?”

The stranger opened his hand to reveal the missing crystal glass. He held it up to the light and admired the crystals that had formed for him. They were blue in colour, but opaque, as if filled with thick smoke. He turned his hand over again and it vanished from his fingers, only for him to open his other palm to reveal it there.

Loki might’ve mistaken it for highly advanced _seidr_ if he hadn’t been paying close attention. This was mere sleight of hand, a tool of charlatans and…

“You cannot be a thief,” Loki said before he could stop himself.

“No’ jus’ a _thief._ Ay’m something of a scoundrel, wi’ a dash o’ rogue and part-time work as a villain,” the stranger grinned. “Ay’m half th' infestation on m' own.”

“Surely you have other talents,” Loki said, his tone off. “Surely you did not wish to be a thief when you were a child - why…why would you choose to live like this?”

“’Tis nah a matter o' choice, be it? Th' strong prosper, th' weak perish, 'n th' scavengers pick th' bones o' what's left t’ survive. Me, Ay’m surviving.”

Frigga stared at him, at a total loss. _Perhaps I was mistaken to think this disease was only of the memory; this cannot be Odin at any point in his life. It is some delusion, some alter-ego conjured in the throes of his decay._

“Didn’t you wish to be a…a…bard or the like?” Frigga said. _Never mind that no Prince of Asgard and future King of it would ever have the need to stoop so low…_

Odin shifted in the chair, tilting back another dangerous degree. “A bard? Nae, ken’t say Ah ev’r did fancy such a thing…folk migh’ like a pretty song but they won’t give a pretty penny to hear it.” He played with a bit of his hair casually, but there was a disguised edge in his next words. “Where in th' world didja get th’ idea that Ay was any kind of a shanty-spurter?”

“Your voice is simply too…pleasant to think otherwise,” Frigga managed. It was more of a barefaced lie than he thought was artful, but his actual face was far from bare. Hopefully the flattery of the woman Odin would someday fall in love with would be enough to sell it.

“Is that so?” Odin said, eye flashing. “Well, don’ mind if I do polish the rust of me ol’ pipes, then…” He cleared his throat, and before Loki could react, he did begin to sing.

_“Hearing, I ask, from the holy races_

_From the Norn’s eye, watching high and low_

_I will now relate, with all of my graces_

_Old tales remembered from long, long ago…”_

A peculiar feeling, as if a large, cold egg had been cracked over his head, washed over Loki. Odin’s accent had fallen away, and his speech was once more All-Speak - and yet Loki felt only dimly aware of that. The sounds reached deeper than the words. He was transfixed.

_"I remember yet the giants of yore_

_Who gave me bread in days gone by_

_Nine worlds I knew, Nine worlds at war_

_Nine voices became one battle cry_

Something was tugging at Loki’s core. Insistent. Demanding. Pulling him forward.

He’d never felt anything like it before.

It frightened him.

_"Only one rose from the sea of blood_

_Broken were oaths, words not what they seemed_

_Before the breath of liars, we scud_

_Shaped, like clouds, by forces unseen..."_

The legs of the chair were creaking ominously. Loki’s skin was crawling again, tingling as it had in the Garden -

_"Take me from this o-ode to slaughter_

_Take me from Hel, though I may belong_

_Le~ad me to my sons and my daughters_

_Le~ad me to the heart -”_

The chair suddenly slipped. Odin fell backwards, his song abruptly cut off. Without a thought, Loki stepped forward, reaching out for his father -

Instead of taking his hand, Odin latched on to Frigga’s wrist and pulled. They crashed to the ground together, but Odin rolled to his feet, pulling the ornamental blade out of the spilled sack on the ground with a shriek of anguished air. The sound only stopped when its impossibly sharp point was pressed warningly to Loki’s back.

And it was Loki’s back. Frigga’s guise had been completely torn from him in an instant.

“Who are you really looking for?” Odin asked calmly.

Loki lay perfectly still, still reeling. “You tricked me,” he said upon finding his voice again.

“You first. Although you neglected to disguise both arms. They didn’t match,” Odin observed. “You are a liar."

“And your accent was inconsistent,” Loki snapped. _What a fool I was to be so easily put in this situation…I know better, I should know better -_

“I’d ask who sent you, but why waste the breath."

“What do you mean?” Loki asked innocently, eyes still darting about the room as he looked for something, anything that he could use to alter his situation.

Odin tapped Loki’s back with the sword again, reminding him who was asking the questions. “How fares Asgard? I’ve nearly forgotten what it looks like.”

 _It would appear that Odin abandoning - leaving Asgard would seem to be an old habit of his,_ Loki mused. “Why did you leave Asgard?” he couldn’t help but ask, although it seemed to him that Odin only ever left on a whim.

Odin raised a near-invisible eyebrow. “Why did no-one come looking for me until now?”

_Running down endless hallways, banging on doors and opening them time and time again on empty rooms, calling and calling until his voice was hoarse and his feet sore, but still finding nothing, still alone until -_

Loki swallowed. "Because you always come back again.”

Something flickered over Odin’s face. The point pressed to Loki’s back suddenly vanished. At once he rose and retreated a safe distance, watching Odin warily. His father stuck the sword (a pretty carved relic from some dead world) into his belt, where it stuck out oddly.

“So it was my father who sent you then,” he said simply. “What does he want from me?”

“Cannot a father miss his son and wish to find him again?” _As a son misses his father and hopes that somehow he can pull him back to the surface of his madness..._

“If my father truly knew me, he would have told you not to bother with the disguise,” Odin declared. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the forgotten goblet of mead on the desk. “You’re handsome enough as you are."

As Loki stared at him, uncomprehending, Odin lightly picked up the goblet and sniffed it. “A fine enough brewing. If you’ve more of this, we could truly pass a pleasant evening in each other’s company. Forget all about what my father's wishes, whatever they truly are.”

Loki felt as if he’d swallowed a stone. Somehow it was simultaneously stuck in his throat and pulling his stomach down past his knees. “Begging your pardon?” he asked faintly.

Odin sipped at the mead, still staring at Loki appraisingly. “There’s no need for Asgardian pretence out here. We can be as we are.”

Loki’s mouth had gone totally dry. Unconsciously, he took a step back.

Odin looked down at the mead, head tilting. “Say, this is…some strong…stuff…” he took another gulp and swayed, grabbing the desk for support. He looked up and noticed Loki’s retreat. “Wherrrre are you going’?” he slurred. “Weren’t you….looking for me…”

“I’m terribly sorry. I was mistaken - you’re not who I was searching for,” Loki said quickly, taking another step back.

Odin fell to his knees, the goblet slipping from his hand and clattering loudly against the golden floor. “I knnneeewww it,” he slurred, eye nearly closed. “No-one would llllllooook for _mmmmeeee_ … I got too far….away…”

Loki was nearly at the door when Odin completely slumped over on the floor, little more than a bundle of rags.

Loki realized his heart was pounding in his ears. He was frozen where he stood, grasping at the door frame for support.

He should go over to Odin. Pick him off the floor, prepare him for and place him in bed, douse the lights. But he didn’t move.

 _I never knew,_ he realized.

The doorway seemed to glide away from Loki, as if he were standing on a wheeled platform being gently pulled. He passed from light into the dark hallway, then out into the dim Receiving Room and past the golden door to the very apartment itself, which closed and locked, though Loki had no sensation of lifting his arms to do so.

_I never knew._

_You were like me - no, I was like you - all along._

_And I never knew._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Lord, this chapter. They say art is never finished, it escapes. In this case I'm just leaving the damn gate open. This is the ninth major draft of this thing. It got rewritten so much I had to rewrite the chapters after it completely too. At a certain point you gotta say 'this is a hobby, stop letting this kill you'. 
> 
> This was always the hardest chapter to write, even in the very first draft. This goes to some uncomfortable places that required a bit of a balancing act. Thanks to my ever-incredible Beta [JaggedCliffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaggedCliffs/pseuds/JaggedCliffs) , I was able to balance the 'squick'. For those of you who found this difficult, this is as 'squicky' as it gets. This was a huge challenge to get right and I really agonized over it.
> 
> I'm sorry if this one isn't up to my usual standards, and I thank you all for reading and giving me such incredibly kind comments and compliments. I admit part of my reason for just letting this get out the door is because I need to hear from you all to help give me the motivation to continue, ha ha. 
> 
> Hope you're all safe in this crazy time, and that I can distract you for a moment from the raging nonsense that is 2020. 
> 
> Happy Canada Day, though!


	10. I Never Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki remembers a strange talk with his father.

**LOKI**

* * *

_A breeze pulled the door to Odin’s office open._

_“Come in, Loki,” said a voice from within._

_Loki strained to hear the inflexion in those three words. Was his father angry? Ashamed? Disappointed?_

_He couldn’t tell._

_“Loki?” Odin called again._

_His legs jerked into motion. Unwillingly, the rest of him followed._

_“Father,” he said once he was standing in front of Odin’s desk._

_He bowed stiffly, his eyes never meeting Odin’s. Instead, they fastened themselves to a glass sphere sitting on a stack of papers. Inside were ever-changing crystals. They were currently sphenoid, solid and a near opaque white. As he drew nearer, however, the crystals faded to a transparent, ugly yellow and fractured._

_Loki had a sneaking suspicion about that crystal globe. He bit his lip and hoped Odin would not look at it._

_Odin was not looking at it. Unfortunately, he was instead looking unwaveringly at Loki. The boy’s stomach twisted. How much did he know? How much did he suspect? What was he going to say?_

_“When I sent you to the stables for that incident with Thor, did you think it was meant as a punishment?” Odin asked._

_The crystals had formed into green octahedrons, bouncing around inside the glass with the faintest of_ plinks.

 _“I’m sure you thought so while mucking out stables and taking orders from Stablemaster_ _Gulltopp. He can be a hard man.”_

The first day he had me burning ticks off the goats, _Loki thought._ I think he very much enjoyed getting me ‘off my high horse’ and into the manure. If you didn’t mean it as a punishment, he certainly took the opportunity to make it as unpleasant a lesson as possible.

_“A hard man, but a good and loyal one. There is none other I would entrust Sleipnir too.”_

_Sleipnir had been a perk for Loki, as well. He’d made it a point to smuggle his father’s steed some choice treats every day and had been rewarded with the horse’s affection - something that had gone a long way to convincing_ _Gulltopp to let Loki do more enjoyable tasks, like grooming and exercising the horses - though not without supervision._

_“Admittedly, Gulltopp does not much care for two-legged creatures as much as four, although he makes occasional exceptions. One of them being that stable boy he’s taken under his wing. Sialfi, wasn’t it? He tells me you’ve been getting on well together.”_

_Loki thought he was going to be sick._

_He knows._

_“I am glad to see you making friends. Especially among the common folk - their counsel is important for a king to take to heart. It is easy to lose perspective when you sit on a high chair. It is part of the reason I sent you to the stables.”_

_The crystals are swiftly losing all geometric shapes. They were ugly, misshapen, hitting the sides of the glass with more and more force. Surely Odin would notice the sickening noise - surely Odin would know the feelings Loki was desperately attempting to shove deep into his collapsing stomach._

_“Which is why I regret to inform you that the boy’s skills have been noticed by more than_ _Gulltopp; Lord Dagur has taken a shine to the lad. He has enlisted him as his squire.”_

_Lord Dagur was a famously itinerant man, rarely resting in one place for more than a day before continuing. The only thing more famous than that about him was his horse, the magnificent Skinfaxi, whose mane was made of light._

_That would have surely caught Sialfi’s attention. Perhaps he’d taken good care of the beast, as he always did, his affection and talent plain for Dagur to see. Perhaps, on a whim, the Lord had requested him, and who would Sialfi be to refuse such an honour?_

_After all, it wasn’t like he and Loki would ever be able to continue as they were. Why would he sacrifice his future for a few more moments with the stringy second prince, risking his life for the simple pleasure of besmirching royalty? Why even risk telling Loki, who might be expected to sabotage everything out of spite?_

_Perhaps it was as simple as that._

_“I am sorry to say they left early this morning. I expect Lord Dagur will return to Asgard in a century or so; it is difficult to know with that man. But should you wish it, Huginn and Muninn can find them and deliver any messages you would like to send your friend.”_

_“He wasn’t my friend,” Loki said quickly. “He was just someone to talk to. That’s all.”_

_He still couldn’t look at Odin. He needed to look him in the eye. Needed to prove to him that he meant what he said. After all, if Sialfi could just leave like that, without a word…maybe they hadn’t been even so much as friends._

_But he couldn’t._

_“I see,” Odin muttered, as mercurially as everything else. “Well, in any case, I see no need for you to continue to labour in the stables if you no longer want to. You are free to return to your usual duties as Prince of Asgard.”_

_Loki finally met Odin’s eye._

_It pierced through him, like a pin through a Fluttering Asp. He stood, paralyzed._

_“You’re dismissed,” Odin said._

_Loki couldn’t move. To his horror, that paralysis didn’t extend to his lips._

_“Why are you telling me this?”_

_Odin waited a beat too long to reply. “What do you mean?”_

_“Why not tell Mother to tell me? Or wait for Gulltop to let me know? I know your time is limited - why waste it on something so small?”_

Just say it, _Loki wanted to shout._ Just tell me that you _know._

_“It was I who decreed you should go to the stables. And it should be I who tells you that you no longer have to.”_

_Loki persisted. “You meant for me to learn a lesson. How are you so sure that I did?”_

_Odin still didn’t blink. He considered Loki for a time before replying “You’ve spent six months there. If you haven’t learnt it by now, you won’t learn it with another six.”_

_“What did you mean me to learn?” Loki was aghast at his own rudeness, a passenger clinging for dear life to his runaway words._

_Odin, of course, answered a question with a question. “Why did you turn your brother into a frog?”_

_“…It was just a little jest. Nothing more.”_

_“Hmm. I suspect one could learn quite a bit about the world and its dangers, if they were a frog for awhile…”_

Thor didn’t learn anything from the experience. He thought it was hilarious, never thinking for a second that something could have happened to him while he was green and small and squishy -

_"Horses are much larger, but still vulnerable. They require care and attention. Not all of it pleasant work. Most of it unseen.” Odin shuffled the papers on his desk before stowing a scroll into a drawer. “You would put yourself and others in danger. I sought to put you in a position where you would be a caretaker of those directly ‘beneath’ you.” A ghost of a smile at that little joke._

_Loki’s heart began to slow. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe -_

_“I won’t always be here to correct you, Loki. Gulltopp is a very loyal man whom I can trust with both my horse and my son’s discretion. The next time you get into trouble, the lesson may not be so private an affair.”_

_The hair along Loki’s arms stood up._

_“You need to be more careful,” Odin said with finality: a clear note of dismissal._

_Loki left._

_Odin knew._

_He knew._

_…Didn’t he?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick chapter, but more is on the way very shortly. Consider it an appetizer. Sorry for the delay, an alarming amount of rewrites have been happening lately. My usual thank-you [JaggedCliffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaggedCliffs/pseuds/JaggedCliffs) for beta-ing, general inspiration, etc.


	11. Brothers Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki flees his from his Father's rooms, only to run into a conversation he's been avoiding for years.

**LOKI**

* * *

The royal apartments were far behind him, but still Loki fled as if the hounds of Hel itself were at his heels.

_I never knew._

He’d always assumed his desires were the result of an innate inner failing, or perhaps punishment for acting less-than strictly masculine. Even this beard, thin and short as it was, had taken a great deal of coaxing and magical aid. Proof of, or so he’d always assumed, some terrible confusion in his flesh.

_And yet this secret longing inside me might have had roots in the very man I most feared discovering it._

_How ironic; how hilariously ironic._

_Not as hilarious as the great irony of my entire life, though; there I was, trying so hard to be more like Dear-old Dad, desperate for him to see me as a worthy son. No wonder he’d rather look anywhere else. What a punishment that must have been for Father - to see his own perversity passed along, knowing if the son were exposed, the father was at risk. ‘Where did he get it from?’ the people might ask. They’d look upwards from the apple, and see the tree. And they’d wonder. Surely they would._

_The House of Odin could not risk such disgrace. So he protected me and by so doing protected himself._

Loki felt like a stoppered kettle, the urge to laugh boiling inside him.

_And now it falls to Loki to return the favour - otherwise, people may look downwards from the tree to the apple and wonder ‘How strange the second son never did remarry.’_

But what could he do? It was clear his control over the situation was slipping.

What would happen if some other Odin took over his father’s elderly form again and wasn’t satisfied with merely mouthing off about ancient times? Wasn’t interested in staying put in the palace, and ran off? _Wasn’t content with propositioning his own son,_ wasn’t invested in protecting the family name?

Even if he was with his father every moment of every day - could he really prevent Odin from letting slip something even more sensitive - perhaps to the danger of all of Asgard rather than just his reputation? And if he couldn’t do even that, could he really expect to prevent another violent episode like what had happened in the Vault?

_I can’t. I really can’t._

_Not alone._

“Loki,” came a familiar growl.

Loki looked up, startled. His brother stood silhouetted in the corridor ahead. It was not a very happy sort of silhouette.

“Brother,” Loki responded cautiously.

Thor moved towards him. Loki took an involuntary step back.

“Why aren’t you still with Father?” The king asked quietly.

Loki thought fast. “I thought I better see how Sigfried fares." Thor must be just coming from there; this would be the correct way to go to the healing rooms.

“Do you care for his sake or for Father’s?” Thor said tonelessly.

Loki frowned. “Both. Sigfried has long been a loyal soldier and merits our concern, but it is important the extent of this incident isn’t widely known.”

“Or what?” The king cocked his head slightly. Challengingly.

“Or what?” a note of ire straightened Loki. “How can you even ask that? It should be obvious. Or the people might panic; there will be councils on what must be done about the mad old king. They will fear it runs in our blood, perhaps use it as an excuse to remove all our bloodline from the seat of power.”

Thor took a heavy step forward. “An excuse to remove someone from the seat of power. Of course, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Brother? Since apparently you weren’t as in favour of my coronation as you claimed.”

Loki froze; he’d completely forgotten Thor had heard Odin’s accusations in the Vault. More fool him - at the time, he could have denied it, claimed it was part of the clear delusions Odin was experiencing. Instead he’d confessed, like a fool.

His hesitation now only further incensed Thor. “So Father covered up for you. And you said nothing, all these years.”

Loki shook himself internally and shifted his tone to something more soothing. “They were the actions of a malcontented child. I was…ashamed. I have regretted it ever since.”

Thor’s face did not soften as Loki had hoped it would. He continued to walk slowly forward, closer and closer.

“Is there anything else you regret?” Thor asked.

A memory came to Loki - pretending to read a book in front of the fire, all the while listening for a knock on the door -

“Not that I can recall,” he said instead. But the hesitation had been obvious.

Thor was now scarce inches away. Though they were not so different in height, Loki still felt as if he were looking up at him, as if his brother were a towering beast.

Thor’s eyes narrowed. “You do not behave like an innocent man, Loki.”

Loki swallowed involuntarily. Frustrated at his show of weakness, he squared his shoulders and retorted “ _My_ behaviour is the one in question? Pray tell, who was it that _literally_ fought with Father today?”

“Don’t try to change the subject -“

“You could have blasted his other eye out!”

“And _you_ went behind my back and negotiated with the Queega in secret, the day before we were meant to officially meet!” Thor accused.

Loki froze.

Thor’s eyes flashed. “So it’s true, then."

Once again, saying nothing had said everything. Loki cursed himself. “I did send greetings ahead, to better ingratiate ourselves and ensure success in the following day’s proper discussion. It was little more than-“

“Weasel words,” Thor growled. “You made a deal, Loki. And you asked them to keep it to themselves until you could convince me it was _my_ idea. During negotiations, they kept looking at you after everything I said - as if you were the real king, not I - “

“I merely meant to clarify what you were saying -“

“DON’T DENY IT!” Thor roared.

Loki jumped, stumbling backwards. His ears rang.

Thor breathed heavily, still shaking with rage. But his next words were quiet, almost a whisper. “You never believed in me.”

Somehow, those were the words to echo longest in the empty golden corridor.

“Thor…I -“

But his brother continued straight on through before Loki could even begin. “And now you manipulate Father, using _Mother’s_ very image. I would have thought it below you.”

Loki turned his head to the side, as if he’d been slapped.

Thor looked over Loki’s shoulder, towards Odin’s chambers. “What do you whisper to Father, when you’re alone together? All your discontents, your _doubts_ about the son he chose as heir? Do you press his failing mind to _reconsider -“_

 _“Never,”_ Loki said reflexively, horrified.

 _\--You’d never take advantage of his infirmity to further your own ambition?_ Loki’s thoughts tutted. _You didn’t succeed, but you certainly tried, didn’t you?_

Loki shook his head, trying to clear it. _It wasn’t like that, I just wanted to know about the garden-_

Thor interrupted Loki’s internal protestations. “There’s a great many I things I thought you’d never do, Loki.”

“Never thinking is a bad habit of yours,” Loki snapped back. “You don’t enjoy thinking about Father, either, do you? You avoid him as if his illness was contagious -”

“I saw him this morning -“ Thor protested.

“Yes, you wait for him to go to _you_ at his best, but then call me for me to come and take him away again when he’s at his worst.” Something was rising in Loki’s chest. Something hot. “If you were actually there you’d know I can’t convince him to change into pyjamas, much less turn him to my side in some political crusade!”

“You convinced him you were _Mother_ today!” Disgust carved Thor’s features into harsh angles. “He believed you and every word you said with her mouth! You encourage his delusions, shape them to your advantage - and all that, in front of me! What am I to think happens behind closed doors?”

“What happens?” Loki nearly giggled. _Oh, if only you’d been there earlier..."_ What happens is I attempt to reason with the unreasonable, staying up late into the night simply trying to convince him _it is indeed night now_ instead of whatever time of day he believes calls him to long-passed duties. You think I have his ear? All I have a front-row seat to watch him fall apart a little at a time, while you wait outside those closed doors for him to just get it over with and _die,_ sparing you the embarrassment.”

The air had gotten heavier and heavier the longer Loki had spoken, and now every hair on his arms and neck were standing on end. Thor’s lips moved, but no sound escaped them. He stepped forward again, this time to barge past Loki, his thunderous footsteps echoing down the hall as he stormed towards the Old Royal Wing.

For a moment, Loki felt bitterly victorious. _Let him see what it’s like to deal with the madness for a change._

But as Thor’s footsteps faded away, so did Loki’s temper, replaced instead with a wave of exhaustion so intense he tilted forward. Haze filled his mind, and for a moment he thought he could fall asleep right there, still standing up. An image emerged from the fog -

An old man lying slumped on the floor, soaking in spilled mead. His head wounded, his posture undignified, his figure forlorn and abandoned.

Because Loki had left him there.

He awoke from the fog with a rush of guilt and a ragged inhaling of breath.

\-- _Whatever will Thor say when he finds him?_ hissed a thought in his head.

The clip of heeled boots raced to catch up with the echo of thunderous footfalls.

“Wait - Thor - I should not have said -“

“Why? Because it was honest?” Thor snorted, eyes still fixed ahead, where the golden door to the Old Royal Wing was already in sight. “You're right. For too long I’ve trusted you to do this. I should see him myself.”

In desperation, Loki tried to turn back the conversation to an earlier point of impasse, hoping that if he could douse a previous fire he might yet stop the steam engine. “I do not want to be king,” Loki stated, as plainly as possible.

“Oh, I believe you,” Thor snorted. “There’s too much about being king that would suit you ill. The spotlight that follows, the eyes and expectations of an entire world upon you at every moment. No, Loki prefers to work from the shadows, where it’s far easier to just do as he likes without the risk of disagreement or debate.”

“You think no-one watches or judges me?” Loki had drawn up beside Thor, matching every step. “I am a Son of Odin, same as you!”

“I never said you weren’t,” Thor said tightly, increasing the length of his stride and pulling ahead. “But you are not the one who must bear his legacy. You are Loki before you are Odinson. I am called Odinson before I am called Thor. You are lucky to be free of such expectation.”

 _Free?_ Loki wanted to laugh. _Not only am I Odinson - I am Thorbróðir also. I work from the shadows because I stand in two. My story will only ever be in your footnotes._

“I am the King’s brother, and the old King’s second son. I have tried to live within those things, even as you try to live up to Father’s name. I truly acted in what I thought were the best interests of Asgard, and our family. I…wanted to help. In the ways I am good at. I wanted to ease the negotiations. Truly. And before the Coronation…I was the one who was truly unprepared for things to change.”

Slowly, Thor nodded, though the motion was still stiff. He walked up to the door and put a hand on it. Loki winced, waiting for him to push it open - but Thor only traced the casting of a goat’s horn with his finger. “Father wasn’t sure at all about crowning me. If it weren’t for his oncoming Sleep…” A long hiss of breath escaped Thor. “It meant a lot to hear you thought I could be a good king.”

It occurred to Loki that their positions now were not so dissimilar to how they were then. Thor, at the precipice of entering a new world. Loki, speaking reassurances, but actually working to keep his brother from advancing at all.

His saliva curdled in his mouth at the realization. He spoke anyway. “I did mean it, you know.”

“You say that. But what have your actions shouted, Brother?”

“I am still here, am I not? You may think what I have done is treachery - but though my methods may not be honourable to your eye, they have ultimately achieved your goals, and bring me little publicized glory. Can the same be said of anyone else around you?”

Thor looked around the empty corridor, melancholic. “Yes. You are still here. I never thought it’d just be that...how I miss our friends, the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif, Villi and Ve, Gerda the Falcon Master, Iron-Footed Ivar...they all seemed to slip away, after I became king.”

Loki nodded, though the rest of his body stiffened.

“And then...Reidunn…” Thor shook his head, quickly casting the rest of any would-be sentence aside. “Only you and Mother have been a constant in my life. And she’s...no longer.” Thor covered the face of a falcon with his palm. Frigga’s falcon. “...What would she think of us fighting?”

Even covered by Thor’s hand, Loki could feel the eyes of the falcon boring into him. "She’d probably ask if we wanted a refreshment when we were finished, and to remember not to go too long, since we’re likely to fight again tomorrow and she’d hate for us to repeat material.”

Thor snorted, and with that loud staccato noise the tension seemed to finally break. “I suppose that’s true enough. Although for the life of my goats, I can’t remember what it was we used to argue about. I suppose it was all silly nonsense. Now, though…” Thor’s hands wandered dangerously towards the spot on the door that would trigger it to open if pressed. “I went too far. What I implied - it was vile of me.”

“We are just trying to do right by Father,” Loki said quickly. “It was your love for him that drove you into anger.”

“ _I despise him_ ,” Thor snarled. Loki drew up his eyebrows in surprise, but Thor continued before he could ask. “The stranger who steals away Father and sits in his place. Who humiliates him. Who takes away everything that made Odin himself.”

_If only you knew._

Loki gently squeezed Thor’s wrist. “...He still loves you, Thor.”

With that, Loki was able to guide Thor away from the door, hating himself a little more with every step.

“...This morning he was more himself than in years…” The older brother contemplated. “I knew it couldn’t last, and yet I still ran off to battle. When next I saw him, it wasn’t long until _we_ were doing battle ourselves. And yet...he felt even more himself in that fight, in a way. Strong. Fierce. _Alive.”_ Thor turned to look at Loki. “Fighting him was a mark of respect, warrior to warrior. Father and I - we are connected to nature, a conduit for its power. It makes us whole.” Thor’s hand curled into a fist. “It was something I could do for him. In every other way, I’ve been useless.” He turned and looked at Loki with a sad smile. “Why do you think the first thing I did when things went wrong was to call for you?”

Loki’s brows crinkled in confusion.

Thor studied him. “I’m not as good as you at this. What you can do for him…” He rubbed his face. “I can give him war, but you give him peace. Perhaps I judged your methods too harshly because mine do not work. And it has cost me the most precious thing I have left with Father.” He looked at Loki. “The thing you’ve had to give too much of. Time.”

Loki dare not disrupt this unlikely self-reflection; it was like seeing a unicorn through the fog - he surely wouldn’t see it again, and it was likely skittish and apt to evaporate should he speak.

“I was content to look away and let you take on the burden alone. I reaped the benefits of your labour, even with just the comfort of knowing my father was near. But what has it cost? Sigfried, injured. My brother, stretched thin. The price of my selfishness puts all of Asgard at risk. It cannot continue.”

With a sudden burst of energy, Thor relinquished Loki and strode back towards the doors, swinging them both open dramatically and entering the Old Royal Wing before Loki could stop him.

“What are you doing?” Loki squeaked, scrambling to catch up.

“What I should have done years ago. What you have done alone for far too long."

They were already almost at the entrance to Loki’s chambers - it would only be a minute until they entered Odin’s rooms and revealed the pitiful condition Loki had left him in.

 _I’m so sorry, Father. How could I…what was_ **_wrong_** _with me to leave you like that? What is wrong with me now to seek first to hide the evidence of my neglect instead of seeking the fastest way to aid you?_

“Surely it would be better to visit him tomorrow -“ Loki protested.

Thor paid him as much mind as a Trampling Kergispine would a palace lady’s lap dog yapping at its heels. “How many times have you spent the night in vigil over him? I wish to do the same tonight.”

“He’s asleep -“

“You think because I am the God of Thunder, I am incapable of quiet?”

“It’s very hard to get him back to sleep again if he’s woken -“

“Then I’ll be the one to do it. Rest, Loki, and let me take over filial duties for the night -“

“Tomorrow would be -“

Thor put a finger to his lips. They’d reached the ornate doors at the end of the hallway, resplendent with sculpted wolves and cats. Before Loki could try anything else to stop him, Thor slipped inside.

Loki trailed behind him as the large man tiptoed to the bedroom, knowing full well he would not find Odin there. Thor gave Loki one last wave, directing him again to rest, and disappeared inside the room.

Quick as a hare, Loki spun on his heel and returned to the study, rushing to where he’d left Odin behind. All he found was the puddle of mead, reflecting the golden ceiling.

Thor appeared behind him. “Loki! Where is he?”

Loki stared at the spilt mead. “He’s…gone.”

“Gone? How can he be gone again?” Thor rushed to the veranda and the windows. “The containment spells are intact! How could he get out? The only other way is the door…” Thor trailed off.

He didn’t have to say it. Loki’s stomach was already dissolving into a lake of fiery guilt.

“Loki…I didn’t need to unlock the door when I came in.”

**ODIN**

* * *

_The training yard was filled with shouts, curses and clangs - and of course, with men._

_There was one exception. Prince Cul was still a boy, officially, albeit one currently holding his own against ten men at a time. On a balcony above, Bor All-Father watched intently. He began to clap, signalling his approval and the end of the fight. At once, Cul dropped to his knees in deference to his king. The other men would have done so too, but they were mostly lying prostrate on the ground, moaning._

_Hidden behind a weapon’s rack, Od couldn’t help a smirk of pride._

_“Well done, Borson!” the king proclaimed. “Asgard has never sent off so fine a warrior on a coming-of-age quest. You will bring glory to your name. ”_

_“I hope only to bring glory to the name of Asgard, and not myself,” Cul intoned smoothly._

_The warriors getting to their feet stared at their prince in admiration. Od rolled his eyes._

_“You will bring glory and honour to us all, my s-s-skoffn, koff…” Bor suddenly doubled over on the balcony wheezing. Cul didn’t move, waiting patiently for their father to finish._

_A pair of men behind Cul leaned in to whisper to each other. One sniggered. Both looked at Bor in open contempt._

_Od made sure to memorize their faces._

_Bor recovered, and the men snapped to attention. The king continued as if nothing had happened. “…my son. Go now and rest awhile - it will soon be time for your final feast as a child of Asgard.”_

_After another nod, the All-Father turned and left with a flustered-looking high servant. No doubt there was still much to be done before Cul’s departure in the morning, which was sure to be quite the spectacle._

_The warriors trudged back towards the rack, removing helmets and gossiping amongst themselves. No better than fishwives, really. The first helmet hit Od’s chest with a solid ‘oof!’. It was followed by an avalanche of sweaty armour and clanking weapons._

_Od was about to loudly berate them for treating the King’s son so before he remembered he was currently wearing the face of the armourer’s squire. With very little enthusiasm, he sorted through the warriors' cast-offs. At least he managed to drop a spear precisely as the two men with memorized faces passed, tripping them up. They scowled at him as he stammered apologies._

_The moment they were gone, he picked up the spear again and walked to the centre of the yard. Cul was still sitting there - but not he wasn't as alone as Od had expected. One of Asgard's many ravens had joined him. Cul was caressing its chest with a single finger, a soft smile on his face. He only ever had that expression for animals._

_Od tossed a gauntlet on the ground. The clatter didn’t surprise Cul at all, though the bird turned its head to give Od an irritated look._

_Cul glanced at the glove. “Are you challenging me, Darri?”_

_“My spear against your sword,” Od said in the squire’s voice. Trust Cul to even know a servant boy’s name. Even Od hadn’t bothered._

_“I’ve just fought some of the best men in Asgard; what would I prove in facing you?”_

_Od raised Darri’s eyebrow. “You, the_ **_prince,_** _fought the best men in the_ **_employ of Asgard_** _while the_ **_King_ **_watched. You’ve proven nothing."_

 _Face inscrutable, Cul stood and unsheathed his sword. The falcon took flight, reluctantly._ _“Begin,” he said._

_It was over in less than five minutes. Od gasped in the dirt, inches away from Cul’s blade. The prince sheathed it and offered Od his hand. When they were standing, Od said “Again.”_

_Cul looked uncomfortable. “I do not enjoy knocking little boys on their backsides, Darri.”_

_‘Darri’ whacked his spear against Cul’s blade. “You’re still a boy yourself. C’mon - best of three.”_

_This time it took less than a minute until Od was on his back. The moment he had his breath back, he wheezed “Best of five."_

_Cul helped him to his feet again. “Maybe try as yourself this time, Oddity.”_

_Od allowed the glamour to melt off him. “What gave it away?”_

_A sad smile quirked the corner of Cul’s lips. “You’re the only person I know who wants to fight for hours, but never tries to actually win.”_

_“Ridiculous. I’ve always wanted to win - think of the mockery I could inspire from the entire kingdom! The great and powerful Cul, brought low by a measly gnat!”_

_“You talk about how you’d talk about it, but when it comes to actually trying-” Cul pointed to the small nicks and scratches on his elbows and knees, the few victories Od had scored. “-you don’t aim for the heart.”_

_“Perhaps I wish to make you suffer first,” Od said glibly. “Let’s go again - if you can bring yourself to fight a gnat with poor aim.”_

_Cul frowned. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”_

_Od twirled his spear. “Why don’t you try and make me?”_

_With another sigh, Cul raised his sword._

_Again, Od charged. Again, Cul was ready for him._

_It went as it had previously, hundreds of times. Od tired quickly while Cul’s relentless athleticism never wavered. Until -_

_Cul suddenly stumbled, pitching forward._

_Od stared, as surprised as his brother. In the next instant, however, Od used the butt of the spear to finish sweeping Cul’s legs out from under him. After the First Prince had hit the ground with a crash, Od buried the spear in the ground next to Cul’s head._

_Cul smiled up at him. “Well done. You won.”_

_Od did not smile back. Instead, he scowled. “Nice try, Cul. But did you really think I, of all people, wouldn’t recognize a faker?”_

_Cul wrinkled his brow. “What are you talking about?”_

_Od pointed at the sandy ground. There was nothing there that could trip anyone. “You pretended to fall. Why?”_

_Cul was giving him another look - an_ **_angry_** _look. Od felt taken aback. Cul was almost never angry, and certainly not with Od. No matter how hard he’d try to nettle his older brother._

_“Why do you find it so hard to believe I might trip over my own feet?” Cul accused. “I’m not perfect, you know.”_

_“Norns, have I forgotten to remind you of that today? My apologies -“_

_“No, Od. You say otherwise, but what you say and what you believe are entirely independent notions. You think I’m perfect.”_

_Od, for once, fell quiet._

_“I’m not perfect,” Cul said again, forcefully. “There is every chance I’m going to fail my Coming-of-Age quest. Every chance that after I leave Asgard, I never come back. Maybe the Midgard Serpent gets me instead of me getting it.”_

_Od didn’t like seeing Cul so unhappy. He opted for his usual method of cheering Cul. “Oh, Brother, it would be a terrible tragedy if you should never return home.”_

_“So at least you can admit you’d miss me?”_

_“Hmm? Oh yes, never seeing you again, I suppose so…I was actually talking about the tragedy of me being the one to ascend the throne of Asgard. Can you imagine Father’s face? No, wait, you don’t have to -“ Od wiped his hand over his face and, to Cul’s astonishment, revealed their Father’s. It was comically large on such a small body._

_Od - Bor - scowled. "So this is how Asgard falls. Not with the crash of Ragnarök, nor the woeful call of the e’er-hungry Midgard Serpent - but when they let the strumpet with the trumpet sit in my favourite chair.”_

_The tension in the air deflated as Cul fought off laughter. “Oh, come off it, you would be a fine king -“_

_Bor-Od scrunched up his face. “Would I, though?”_

_“Why not? You’ve the same blood as me -“_

_Od dispelled Bor’s face with another flourish. “Blood runs thicker in some than others.”_

_Cul scoffed. “That hardly sounds scientific. Besides, you’ve many qualities that’d make you a great leader -”_

_“Are you trying to insult me? I’ve done my very best to show my utter incompetence in all fields of leadership. Here, allow me to demonstrate in song..._

If I were king -

Wouldn’t that be something?

I’d paint the castle gold

and outlaw growing old -

I’d start a war or two

Just to have something in the news.

I’d break the planet in a week

The outlook for Asheim would be pretty bleak -

So Cul, please, don’t let this come to pass

The last thing that should be on the throne

is an Ass.”

_Finally, Cul cracked. "I will miss you and your songs, Od,” he laughed. "If only you could follow me like a skald of old and record my exploits.”_

_Od sighed theatrically. “Oh, all right. If you insist. But we’ll need to go tonight.”_

_Cul stared at him. “Are you being serious?”_

_“Weren’t you?” Od grinned cheekily. "If we take one of the boats to the forest, there’s a portal that’ll get us to Muddla-no-wares, and from there you can get anywhere."_

_“What are you talking about -“_

_“You’d be surprised what you find when trying to find a good place to practice singing where no-one can hear you.”_

_“But the ceremony -“ Cul protested._

_“Tomorrow is nothing but pomp and fanfare. It’s perfectly acceptable for Coming-of-Age questers to sneak out in the night, even a King’s son. And travelling companions like skalds and squires are allowed, though it is a more antique custom, and as long as they only perform small acts of aid. Which, being the size I am, is a guaranteed adjective.”_

_“Mother -“_

_“Will find it hilarious! …Eventually. I’ll send her a raven every day.”_

_“Father would be...”_

_“Apoplectic. But absence makes the heart grow more forgiving; by the time we’re back he’ll surely prepare twice the celebration he would have.” Od reached out a hand to help his brother up. “So…are you perfect, or aren’t you?”_

_Cul took Od’s hand._

_Od smiled wickedly and heaved his brother to his feet. “Meet me by the docks after the feast.”_

ᛟ

The smell of brine seared through Odin’s nostrils. Black as glass, the ocean slid by a few feet below him. A breeze blew back his hair, tangling it with starlight.

He was in a boat.

In the distance, a shadowed shore grew. He must be headed there. But why?

He didn’t know. Nor did he know any reason why he shouldn’t go there.

The shore grew closer and closer.

Odin heard it before he saw it.

A voice. Singing. But not with the sounds of men or women. No, this was a song made from the rustle of trees, the muttering of brooks, the keening of animals searching for their pack. It was a voice made from the sound between sounds, the breath taken ahead of words spoken. This was a song that was not a song - but a call.

There was a light on the distant shore. A glowing white figure.

At first, it had no features. As Odin drew closer, a long curtain of dark hair became apparent, along with soft brown eyes.

“Cul?” he whispered.

The figure smiled, teeth as dazzling as Midgard’s moon. _“What took you so long, Oddity? Are we going or what?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting so long for another update, guys. These last few chapters have been a lot of trouble. Once more I must thank the great JaggedCliffs for her diligence and help, she had to read several versions of this chapter before it could escape and she helped make it better every time. 
> 
> I look forward to hearing from you all, seeing that Inbox go from 0 to a real number is always fuel to the creative fire.


	12. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin is caught in the thrall of an apparition with a beautiful voice. Thor and Loki pursue him into the woods, where things start to become unrecognizable.

**LOKI**

* * *

Loki wrung out his hair again, still muttering an unending stream of curses.

Thor rolled his eyes as he restored Mjolnir to his belt. “Just change your clothes already, Brother. We’ve enough to deal with without your wet-cat attitude.”

“You _dropped_ me in the ocean, Thor.”

Thor shrugged. “Don’t be so slippery next time.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to prepare myself. The moment that guard said they’d spotted the boat, you slung me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I _hate_ flying with you like that -”

But Thor had already marched to the abandoned Asgardian skiff on the beach, leaving Loki to grouse alone. Still fuming, Loki did change, magically swapping from palace finery into his hunting garb. The clothes still clung to his wet skin, but at least he wasn’t wearing twenty pounds of water in his cape anymore. He slicked back his wet hair with one last grumble before joining his brother beside the boat.

Thor was bent over a few obvious bootprints in the mud, studying them closely.

“Shouldn’t we hurry up and follow these?” Loki said.

Thor stood and walked beside the prints, measuring the length of his pace. “He ran to this spot. Pretty excitedly. Then stopped suddenly.” Planting his feet together, Thor matched the much smaller prints of Odin beside them. “He didn’t move from here for some time.” Thor scanned their surroundings. “I don’t see anything that interesting here now.”

Indeed, there wasn’t much in that direction but a bit of muddy beach and a few scruffy bushes. Loki gave an irritated half-shrug. “Perhaps he spotted an animal. Or there was nothing there at all, but he talked with it awhile anyway.”

“Or perhaps it’s the reason he came to this place,” Thor muttered. “Afterwards, he went into the woods. Straight line. No wandering. He knew where he was going...”

Thor kept talking, but his words ceased to mean anything to Loki. They entered his mind in a haze, slurred and unintelligible. Without realizing it, Loki was falling away from it, tilting towards something dark, warm and safe…

“Are you coming, Brother?"

A sudden, alarmed lurching in his stomach as his mind snapped back to attention - Loki stumbled forward, sliding in the mud, nearly collapsing before catching himself.

Thor was already deep in the forest, staring back at him quizzically.

“I’m fine, fine,” Loki said before he could ask. “Just a bit tired.”

Thor didn’t look convinced. “Perhaps you should go home and rest. I can find him alone.”

A flash of irritation flared in Loki’s chest. He channeled it to one hand, casting an illusion of a flame. It had no real heat, but its light was real enough.

“You were planning on walking in the dark?” Loki took long paces, catching up to Thor without the indignity of breaking into a run on the slippery footing. When he caught up to his brother, he sent the flame to hover above the trail, to better illuminate the tracks.

They walked side by side with nothing to say. A few times Loki caught his mind veering into sleep again, and was forced to covertly pinch himself to stay focused. It had been an exceptionally long day, filled with enough trouble to fill an entire unfortunate year. No wonder his body longed for it to be over and fall into blissful sleep. If he could have but a moment to rest his eyes -

Loki walked straight into Thor’s back. His eyes snapped open, his brain only now realizing they’d been closed.

Before he could ask what was the matter, Thor pointed at the illuminated tracks. They were ascending a steep hill, and halfway up the tracks disappeared into a mess of churned-up earth and a series of ruts and streaks descending from it.

“He fell,” Thor said simply.

They didn’t have to exchange anything else. They rushed to the bottom of the skids, unsure of what they hoped to find. To their relief and continued worry, there was no body, injured or otherwise.

Thor examined the wreckage of mud and broken branches and announced “He broke his fall here and recovered before starting to climb again.”

Loki sighed in relief.

“…but with a limp. He injured his right leg.”

Loki’s sigh turned inside out and became a quick inhale. “How serious?”

“Hard to tell. He’s leaning hard to one side, but the leg appears to be usable to some degree.”

_Well, at least he’ll be easier to catch up to now._

It was a rather cruel and blasé thought, but Loki hoped it was true.

They continued on, painfully slowly. They couldn’t run and risk losing the tracks or damaging them. Loki fidgeted with his hands, suppressing the urge to run to the fore. Thor, surprisingly, was methodical in his task, eyes furrowed in concentration as he led them through the wilderness. Once upon a time Thor would have recklessly charged off in every direction until he’d trampled down every tree, leaving Odin the tallest thing standing. At some point in their lives, however, Thor had honed that energy into something sustainable and relentless.

Thor made a bootprint of his own next to Odin’s to compare the edges of the two. “We’re about three hours behind him,” he announced. “He’s moving slowly. If we can keep this pace, we should find him in just over an hour.”

Loki noted his brother’s continued terse tone. He wished he could be angry or frustrated with Thor for that - had he not just sworn fraternal co-operation just a short while ago? - but he could not claim that he did not deserve it. Loki had left the door unlocked. Like a fool.

And that was just what Thor knew. If he’d also known of how Loki had treated Odin beforehand - quizzing him with the face of Bestla, abandoning him on the floor - he’d be more than a bit terse with Loki.

An urge to tell Thor swelled in Loki’s throat. He imagined the rage kindling in his brother’s eyes, the betrayal, the disgust and disappointment that might etch his face as he raised Mjolnir to strike. Loki could almost smell the crisping of ozone, almost feel the sweet relief of a bolt of lightning striking him down. Thor leaving him behind in a pile of charcoal would only be fair and ironic punishment.

Loki played the fantasy over and over again in his thoughts until Thor himself interrupted him.

“This can’t keep happening.”

Loki nodded at once. “Yes, the spells on his room are proving wholly inadequate lately. I’ll seek out better Locksmages, scour all the Twelve if I have to -“

“No, Loki.”

Thor’s face was eerie in the flickering light of the false flame. The strong chisels of his face became planes for dancing shadows, but his eyes stayed bright and turned away from his brother.

“No?” Loki bristled at the word. “What do you mean, _no?_ What’s wrong with stronger spells? We can’t keep him safe in his rooms if we don’t try a little harder to secure them.”

“Maybe it’s time to leave those rooms behind.”

The crunch of Loki’s boots suddenly silenced. Thor kept walking, leaving the circle of light.

“What are you saying?”

As if finally realizing he couldn’t track Odin’s trail without Loki’s light, Thor slowed to a stop as well. “...There is Vanaheim,” he said slowly.

A cold needle slid into Loki’s sternum. “Vanaheim? What could possibly be better about Vanaheim?”

“We could modify our old summer retreat there. It’s a calming place, filled with good memories.” Thor fiddled with a loose piece of moss Odin must have disturbed. “And…the Sisters of Idunn are nearby.”

“Why would we have need of them?” said Loki carefully. “Have you lost faith in Bronwenna and Asgardian healers?”

“Many Asgardians are sent to the Sisters when all else fails, Loki. There’s no shame in turning to them for help. They are experienced with…such matters.”

"Experienced with mad people, you mean. Mad people no one else wants to take. And ‘all else’ hasn’t failed at all. There’s much more we can do here. Why are we even having this conversation now? What we need to do is get Father home.” Loki’s fire flared up, twice as bright, and raced ahead. He followed it, brushing past Thor.

“We’ve put off talking options for far too long,” Thor said, eyes still tracing the ground for signs of Odin’s passage. “Our inaction is why we’re here now. What better time to talk? He turned here, by the way.”

Loki was forced to retreat back towards Thor. He’d never had much interest in tracking - far too much dragging your knees in the dirt and sniffing at dung. And yet that skill was what lead them now. A skill Thor seemed to have almost naturally.

“We’ll visit often. Your time with him should be special, instead of continuous obligation," his brother said encouragingly, though his eyes remained fixed to Odin's trail. 

Thor spoke as if it were already done. Why wouldn’t he? He was accustomed to every choice in the realms being his to make.

"If he’s in Vanaheim, or even just outside the palace, you know we’ll rarely have the time to visit. Surrounded by strangers, he’ll deteriorate even faster -“

“Everyone is a stranger to him these days! He knew Sigfried well but that didn’t stop him -” Thor took a breath. “I know he did not mean it…but it can't go on like this. _You_ can't go on like this.”

“I’m _fine,”_ Loki snapped. “A touch of fatigue after a long day proves nothing - I can go on, and I will go on. I’ll find the weakness in our security and I will seal it.”

“The weakness was you forgetting to lock the door, Loki,” Thor said softly.

He had been waiting for it to be said, but hearing Thor say it so calmly, so _pityingly,_ made Loki bristle more than if Thor had shouted it.

“Then I will ask the Locksmages to create a spell that will lock the doors automatically,” he said, a little too sharply.

“That’s not enough, Brother, and you know it.”

_Not enough. Never enough._

“ _I’m_ enough,” Loki insisted. The confidence of his tone was brittle, its foundations as stable as hour-old ice over a dark lake.

Thor sensed Loki’s frustration, and, irritatingly, continued to speak soothingly and reassuringly. “You shouldn’t have to be enough. You deserve better. Already you’ve sacrificed too much. When was the last time you took time for yourself?”

“My affairs are my affairs,” Loki said coldly. “And this is one of them. As the youngest son, Father’s care falls to me. I’ll decide what’s best.”

Thor groaned. “Best for whom? Certainly not best for you. Not best for Father, either, and certainly not best for Sigfried. Or even best for our family-"

Loki's heart was racing, beating loudly in his ears. He raised his voice to speak over it. “What’s best is that we stay together. As a family!”

The foliage erupted at Loki’s words, emitting a flock of startled _sevjislukers_ into the night. He hadn’t realized how loud his voice had gotten.

Thor put a finger to his lips. Loki bit down on the instant flare of anger that caused. He _knew_ they had to be quiet, couldn’t startle Odin, couldn’t risk him running on his hurt leg into Norns-knew what kind of danger next. But he’d shouted anyway, like a fool.

“We are a family,” Thor stated plainly. “Distance cannot change that.”

Loki said nothing. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t shout again. His heart was hammering in his chest, flushing his face, scrambling his thoughts. Though he and Thor were the ones hunting Odin through the forest, he felt as if he’d been running from a pack of hounds.

Thor was looking at him with concern. He clearly had been prepared for some pushback, but apparently had not anticipated so heated a response. Loki took a shuddering breath, trying to force his body to be still. Before he could say anything more, Thor’s face crumpled.

“You must think I’m a terrible son. That I don’t care. But I don’t want to send him away. I want him here as desperately as you do. If I could keep him with me and guarantee his safety and everyone else’s I’d never even _consider…"_ Mjolnir reverberated at Thor’s waist, sparking. Thor patted it until it settled. After a long pause, he spoke in a flatter tone of voice. “Father once told me that a good king must think from the perspective of a raven over Asgard, and not dwell within one house - his own most of all.”

"That does sound like something he’d say,” Loki said tersely. “But I’m not king, am I? Good or otherwise.”

“Loki…”

Loki spoke faster and faster. “He’s safer on Asgard. Asgard is safer with him on it as well. That’s how it’s always been.”

“Nothing is for always.”

“A promise is. You took oaths to protect the realms. My oaths were to protect this family.”

“Look around you,” Thor swept his arm out to demonstrate the dark forest. “Is this where Father belongs? Is this protecting him?”

“You aren’t listening to -“ Loki paused. When Thor had gesticulated at the woods, his eye had been drawn to a tree. On its trunk, unmistakably, was a rune for Asgard and an arrow pointing back the way they’d come. He looked away, quickly, feigning interest in something else, hoping Thor hadn’t noticed his sudden attention behind him.

Unfortunately, Thor’s eyes were sharpened by his tracking. He turned and spotted the sign at once. He approached the rune, eyes narrow, and touched it. At once it lit up with a faint, flickering green light - an old spell. And one with a magic too familiar for Thor not to recognize. As he lifted his hand from it, the flesh turned transparent.

Raising an eyebrow, Thor wiggled his rapidly-disappearing fingers and said, “I’m listening.”

“We’re near a fissure in Yggdrasil,” Loki said reluctantly, eyes falling again to Odin’s trail.

“I see. Would this be the one you used to invite your guests to my Coronation? The one you failed to mention for years, despite its obvious risk to Asgard’s security?”

“Nevermind that now. What if that fissure is where Father is going?”

“Then he would travel to another world. Which he is quite capable of doing on his own.”

Loki itched his hand. “You don’t understand. This fissure…it isn’t as simple as a door between worlds. You have to know where you’re going or else you’ll be lost.”

“He’s already lost.”

“No - not like this. This is the kind of lost where you can be found again. People who get lost in the inbetween - in the Ginnungagap - they’re never found again. Lost in Nowhere.”

Thor looked at Loki. Then at the trail.

“Lead the way,” he said. “Quickly.”

**ODIN**

* * *

The fissure seemed almost innocuous. It was curved, like a secretive, craggy smile, full of troublesome rocky teeth. Odin stared down at the darkness within, still ruefully rubbing his hurt ankle.

Cul strode ahead, almost disappearing from view. _“Come on, Odball - it’s not long until dawn, we’ve got to hurry!”_

When had his brother become the nimbler of the two of them? By rights it should have been him who lead the way to the portal. Instead Cul had brought him here, nearly leaving him behind. How had he even known where it was?

“You know _I_ should be the one leading the way, Brother,” Odin chastised. “You don’t know where we’re going.”

_“I know where we’re going. Away from here!”_

“Not inaccurate,” Odin admitted. “But we’ll need a clearer destination than that if we don’t want to get lost.”

_“There’s nothing wrong with being lost. Many things are.”_

How strange Cul’s voice was. It was Cul’s, warm and reassuring and still breaking occasionally, a fate Odin had pitied him for (and dreaded in his own future). But it wasn’t just Cul’s. There were others inside it, like the whirring of moth’s wings trapped in a lantern.

 _“Someone is near,”_ Cul said suddenly. _“They are looking for you - for us.”_

Odin whipped around. “What? How did they find out so fast?”

_“It doesn’t matter - quickly, Brother - we must escape!”_

Cul leapt into the craggy gap, making almost no noise as he glided down inside it. He seemed to barely touch the sides of the cave, though his pearly light made the whole thing glow.

Odin rubbed his eyes, wondering if what he’d seen was even possible. His hand touched something hard as he did so. He blinked in surprise. As he did so, he became aware that it was only one eye that blinked. In fact, it was with only one eye that he was seeing at all.

He seized at the metal thing, plucking it from his face. His vision remained halved. Panic pricking his chest, he felt the eye socket and found it scarred and empty.

“What happened to me?” he whispered in horror. He looked at the metal in his palm. It was golden, shaped by a fine craftsman. A patch so well-made it seemed more ornamentation than disguise of injury.

 _Eitri is as talented as his mother,_ he thought idly. Then, _Who’s Eitri? What mother?_

The golden eyepatch stared up at him. Existing. While Odin’s right eye did not.

This was wrong. This was all wrong.

_“Come on, Od! They’re nearly here! Jump!”_

Cul was right - he should hurry. They didn’t have much time until…but they never made it this far, did they? They’d just gotten here, had been about to leave when that terrible sound had shook Asheim -

It was quiet now, but for the hissing of the voice in the chasm.

_“We’re in this together, Brother - come with me! Let’s be lost together!”_

The voice was so beautiful. He had to follow it. Had to go with it. Had to -

Two voices called out from the darkness. “Father?” The sound was so jarring Odin turned his head as if he’d been struck on the cheek.

 _“They’ll take you away,”_ warned the voice from the portal. _“They’ll take you away from me!”_

“But who _are_ you?” Odin mumbled, his brains pounding.

_“Come now!”_

“FATHER!”

_“JUMP!”_

Instead, Odin stumbled backwards, falling into some low shrubs behind him. Almost by instinct, he threw up an illusion to make him appear as one of them - but even more uninteresting.

Moments later, two towering figures broke into the glade.

“The tracks go right to that opening,” said the wider one. “Is that the portal?”

“It is,” said the weedier. “Are we too late?”

The wider one bent down and squinted at the stone. “…No,” he said in relief. “He lingered, then moved on.”

Odin tensed as both figures turned towards him, blue eyes piercing the darkness. He tried to think bushy thoughts.

“…but with all this stone, it’s harder to see a trail. Brighten your light, Brother.”

The weedy brother raised his hand. The ball of false fire at their feet grew twice as large, throwing hungry light over the entire clearing.

Thinking bushy thoughts as he was, Odin couldn’t help but feel a twinge of fear, even if no heat came from the thing.

The tracker grew increasingly agitated as he circled the space, kicking at undergrowth. “It just stops,” he seethed. He looked back at the mage. "Can’t you do something magic to reveal where he’s gone?”

The mage shrugged. “My kind of magic is, unfortunately, more about making things appear as they aren’t, more than revealing them as they are.”

The tracker snorted and muttered something under his breath. The mage tensed. “It was _quite_ useful when I eased our escape in Nornheim -“

“Running away ‘better’ than we could have is hardly something a warrior would brag about -“

“A true warrior knows when a tactical retreat can lead to greater victory -“

The larger man sighed loudly. “Not this again. Haven’t we got bigger problems?”

“You brought it up,” the mage said peevishly.

“I did not.”

“Thor, you're - ”

“Enough, Loki.”

So, they were called Thor and Loki. They fancied themselves warriors. They were definitely fools. It probably ran in the family, seeing as their father had managed to get himself lost in the woods at night. Or maybe he’d run off to escape their bickering. If so, the man was a coward - he should face the failures of his parenting and correct it before these two could inflict themselves on the rest of Asgard.

Soundlessly, Odin drew back his arm, still clutching the golden eyepatch. The two men continued arguing, loud enough that Odin knew to aim for something even louder. He hurled the patch through the woods, striking a hollow stump, ricocheting off a stone, and finally landing with a loud ‘ploop’ in the stream. It wasn’t too bad a throw - about a quarter of a mile. The so-called warriors at least had sharp enough hearing to detect it. They hurried into the woods after it, leaving him in blessed quiet.

Oldest trick in the book. Their father really did have a lot more to teach them.

_How could I have failed them so badly?_

What? Failed whom? What sort of thought was that to think? He had to get back to…where was he going, again?

His body moved without his conscious direction, shedding his bushy illusion as he walked to the edge of the clearing the men had disappeared into.

_Thor. Loki._

_Thor? Loki?_

“Thor…Loki…” he called out, still confused.

Hesitantly, Odin followed the trail they’d left. Hampered by his hurt leg, halved vision and lack of light, he soon found himself swallowed whole by the woods. He fell twice more, double-backed without realizing it, found himself staring at impassable gorges and deep streams, but seemingly never the same obstacle twice. Or maybe he had, and simply forgotten it.

“Children…” he tried to call into the thickening mist. “Where are my children?”

Shadows flickered just out of the corners of his eyes. Sometimes they were low, only at knee-level. Others towered. All fled when he turned to look at them, dissolving into the thickening mist.

He followed them anyway. The fog soaked his clothes, weighing him down, and his ankle twanged with every pivot. Again and again he stumbled in one direction after another, almost hearing, almost seeing them, their names coming and going from his mind.

A branch caught at his leg, very much like a small hand grasping for attention. He spun around, reaching out to grab the hand, his heart swelling with relief and joy -

It was too much, too fast for his injury. He fell, striking stones and thorny weeds on the way down. He didn’t rise again. He lay there, struggling to breathe the heavy mist.

His children…where were his children? Why couldn’t he _reach_ them? How could he have been so careless as to lose them in the haze?

_“Father…?”_

It was faint, but familiar. Odin called back to it. “Here! I’m here!”

Something broke through the mist, striding towards him. Not a shadow, but a light. Odin had to shield his eyes.

 _“Oh, Father…what have you done to yourself?”_ The voice seemed to change pitch and tone as the glowing figure spoke. It didn’t seem like one voice, but to be shifting between several that Odin knew well.

“I am well,” Odin grumbled gruffly.

_“Hardly. You’re injured, and lost.”_

The All-Father scoffed. “I am not lost. I am always exactly where I mean to be.”

 _“Do you mean to be on your back? Surely you’d rather stand.”_ The figure held out a glowing hand.

Without thought, without doubt, Odin reached out and took the hand.

He recognized the shape of it as the figure helped him to stand. Surely this was Frigga’s hand? It had the same softness, the same cleverness - but no, the fingers were broader, the nails a touch squarer.

Now close to it, Odin squinted at the figure’s face, which dimmed slightly, as if welcoming his examination. Blue eye met blue eyes. Odin’s darted to and fro over the boy’s face, growing wider and wider with every discovery.

The curl of the hair _(so like Gefjun’s)._

The thin eyebrows, barely visible _(Mother had the same)._

A small cleft in the chin _(that was all Cul’s)._

The jaw was square _(a mirror of Thor’s)_ , but the chin was blunted at a familiar angle _(Frigga again)._

And of course the eyes. _A colour that’s haunted every gaze in my family._

The shy smile was new. All his own. Something Odin had never gotten to see.

_“It’s not so terrible, being lost. Sometimes two lost things can find each other.”_

Hand shaking, Odin reached out to brush his fingers against the boy’s cheek. It burned and froze in equal measure. “It can’t be…”

_His name…I should say his name…_

He could not remember it.

_“It’s alright, Father. I don’t need a name where we’re going, anyway.”_

The boy put Odin’s arm over his neck, shoring up the injured limb. As they set off even deeper into the woods, the boy began to sing. There were no words, few sounds that were even human. It was a mix of branches clacking in a winter breeze and the ruffle of hawk’s feathers.

It was so beautiful that a tear was brought to Odin’s remaining eye.

Before he could remember that he didn’t sing anymore, he joined in, his voice melting into the boy’s in perfect harmony.

**LOKI**

* * *

“Brother? What’s happened to the light?”

Loki had stopped dead on the path, his illusory light guttering in and out of existence. He didn’t seem terribly aware of its manic state - his eyes were fixed dead ahead, vacant.

“Can you hear that?” Loki said distantly.

Thor frowned. There were many noises in the woods at night - they seemed louder than they were even in the day. Yet nothing unusual interrupted the usual chatter of bugs and nocturnal beasts to his ear.

“Is it Father?” Thor asked eagerly.

Loki held up a finger to shush him, gaze still fixed. "I think…one is.”

Thor frowned, moving closer. “One of what? What else is there?”

Loki’s skin was crawling again, as if covered in marching ants. It was faint, so faint - like trying to hear a private conversation by pressing his ear against a stone wall. He could almost make it out.

“There’s another…voice?” That wasn’t quite right. “A…sound. Many sounds. Speaking like a voice, but not…not actually speaking.”

Tentatively, Thor squeezed Loki’s shoulder, as if trying to wake him. “You aren’t making any sense, Brother.”

 _That’s because this doesn’t make any sense,_ Loki thought, the crawl in his skin intensifying. Yet there was something else, something more beneath it - a pounding in his blood, a dryness in his throat, a building _urge_ in his mind he could not name.

“I…should be doing something…” he muttered under his breath.

“Yes, you should be lighting your false-fire and telling me plainly what it is you heard,” Thor said, but Loki was not listening to anything near him anymore.

Something was pounding in his head, like an incessant knock on a door. He just had to find that door and open it, and he’d know what it was, and what it wanted with him…

Thor was still saying useless, distracting things like “Where are you going, Loki?” and “Slow down, I can barely see you,” and “Wait, come back! LOKI!”

His cries slid through Loki’s consciousness like water through a net. Instead, his ears focused on the song.

It wasn’t the _right_ song. It had echoes of it - stolen fragments, weaving in and out of its abductor. A different voice, a hungry voice. Singing a hungry, hunting song.

He ran like he’d never run before. There was no decorum, no thought as to where he was going or how to place his feet to get there. Every step simply landed where it needed to be, every scratch against his person no more than a tickle or passing annoyance.

Brambles caught at his cape. Without a second a thought, he released it from his shoulders, breaking free like a horse escaping his reins. He soon recovered his speed, ears registering the slowly growing volume of the song as he grew closer and closer.

Loki ran through a stream, its loud babbling drowning out his own splashing footfalls. The water still soaked through his boots, chafing his skin against the leather. He released the buckles and plucked them from his feet without a second thought.

Mud squelched through his toes, slimy and oddly satisfying. One of his knees cried out in protest, but he overrode it. Pain was part of the flow. Part of the chase. And he was so very near the end.

He scrambled up the bank on the other side, emerging into a thick blanket of mist. Without hesitation, needing merely the song to guide him, Loki plunged in.

His body vanished from his sight. This did not bother him - he’d never felt more aware of himself, of every nerve exposed to the cool air. His bare feet found his way without conscious effort until he stood in front of a tree. He waited.

It flickered. For a moment, it was not just another tree. It was taller, blacker, deader. Familiar.

The tree from the Garden.

Loki turned to see if the other trees were here.

The mist was too thick to see more than two other nondescript, average looking conifers. Then again -

Loki squinted, and they shifted, blurring into the trees he remembered. The tall, strong oak with branches reaching high. The stunted rowan tree, choking with mistletoe.

At the base of the rowan was a figure, glowing white, staring across at him.

A blink. The conifers returned. At the base of the furthest -

_Father._

Odin's knees were dark with mud, his eyepatch missing and his hair tangled with leaves - but Loki hardly noticed any of that. It was his father’s gait that felt odd. He moved with a limp, and yet his weight seemed to be shifting oddly. At times, his feet barely moved, and yet he glided forward again anyway.

_He’s not alone._

Loki’s skin crawled, suddenly growing hot. Again the world seemed to flicker. The glowing figure reappeared, its arm wrapped around Odin, half-supporting, half-dragging him forward. Its voice became suddenly very clear, like a loud whisper directly into Loki’s ear.

_“Come quickly, come with me_

_There’s so much below to hear and see_

_What was lost has now been found_

_Deep, deep under the ground_

_Come and see - it’s under the tree_

_Quickly, quickly - stay with me…”_

It did not sing alone. Odin’s voice trailed behind, as if half-heartedly learning the words.

As the figure approached the tree, it began to shudder. It fell to the side slightly, something shifting near its roots…

A hole. A hole was opening in the ground. Wide enough to fit a man.

The figure went in first, still gripping Odin’s hand. The old man obediently slid down after it, clambering into the hole willingly. As if he was being _stolen_ willingly.

Loki watched no more.

The earth shuddered as his feet slapped against it, the trees rustled in surprise and anger. The music changed. Faster, faster, faster it sang, and faster, faster, faster Odin moved with it. He’d nearly vanished completely into the opening - only the stub of a boot remained outside. Even as Loki reached out, the hole began to shrink, as if about to swallow.

 _“No you don’t!”_ Loki hissed, plunging his hand inside and grasping at the trailing pants leg. The hole choked - the music shrieked - the leg kicked, nearly striking Loki in the skull. He added his second hand to the first, even as the old man raged and clawed at the dirt, trying with all his might to go into the dark.

Something on the other end of Odin pulled back. Loki was snapped forward, plunging into the tunnel. The legs continued to kick and fight, even as the tunnel began to narrow and the air ran thin. Behind them, the mouth of the tunnel closed. Ahead, the light of the new, unknown portal flickered.

“Let me go!” Odin shouted, his voice so overwhelmed with emotion it was unrecognizable.

Loki did not let go.

“He can’t have you,” he grunted, his own voice ragged. With every exhalation of breath, the dirt closed in, making every breath shallower and shallower.

“He’s mine. My son. I have to go with him…I have to protect him this time…” Odin was still clawing at the dirt, trying to wriggle away.

“ _I’m_ your son,” Loki wheezed, tightening his grip on the fabric.

Odin stilled, staring down the tunnel at the light, as if listening rapturously to something.

“I remembered his name,” he said, hoarse. “I remember…”

“Thor and Loki,” Loki hissed. “Your sons are Thor and Loki, and you are coming with Loki -“ He tried to yank Odin towards him. Whatever it was that held his father’s other arm pulled Odin forward another two inches instead, stalemating him.

“…Thor? Yes…I know Thor…good lad…I left him, too…he was supposed to have a brother when I returned…we’d already chosen the name…”

“Loki…you called him Loki…I am your real son, that creature is not yours - help me save you from it -“

“Loki…” Odin said the name slowly, without a hint of familiarity. “What a strange name. That’s not it at all…no…my son was given a warmer name than that...”

“You named him Loki.”

“Lies. I remembered it…his name…his name was…”

The boot collided into Loki’s nose with no warning. Hot blood gushed instantly out of his face, leaving him reeling and choking. His grip loosened. Odin seized the opportunity and slipped from his grasp like a wet fish.

“BALDUR!” he cried, crawling into the light.

The music returned, so loud that Loki’s ears rang with it, Odin’s broken, disjointed voice driving it, singing out the name of Baldur, Baldur, Baldur - he was slipping away, disappearing into the light, pulling away, and for an instant in his pain Loki saw a pale, phantom form spreading its arms to welcome Odin into the light, a face that was both familiar and unfamiliar, with eyes so terribly blue.

Loki stared into them, and with an overwhelming sense of utter hatred, he snarled, throwing himself forwards, swimming through the dirt, and, at the last second, snatching Odin’s leg with both hands.

 _“You…named…him…LOKI!”_ he declared, pulling on Odin’s leg with all his strength. Where his hand touched Odin’s skin, a tingling sensation spread, but Loki did not fear it now. In fact, he felt a sudden rush of strength, and with a surety he could not name he pressed his hands to the top of the tunnel and _pushed._

The earth turned cold and solid, cracking like an egg. Blue light from above breeched the tunnel.

Odin screamed like a dying animal as Loki wrapped his arms around him and brought him out. Loki could scarce contain his father’s manic struggling in his arms. He only made it a few steps before being knocked off-balance, sending them both tumbling down. Immediately Odin started crawling back towards the rupture, still flickering with an unholy light.

Loki pounced, pinning Odin’s limbs to the ground.

“You can’t have him!” Loki shouted at the voice, which was still chanting, still reaching, still beating in his ears. “He’s mine!”

Odin wailed again.

An invisible force grabbed the scruff of Loki’s neck and began to pull him loose. Loki thrashed, resisting it, hands clenching over Odin's wrists even tighter. A strange wave of lethargy passed through him. No doubt it was some trick of the thing in the hole, trying to weaken him, trying to steal away his magic as well as his father - well, he’d show it just how much power he really had.

He pushed back against the drain, sending power racing to the tips of his fingers with vengeful zeal. There was a hiss and sharp stench of burning flesh, and Loki bared his teeth in triumph.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, LOKI?! _Let go!!_ ”

Something grabbed ahold of Loki, attempting to lift him off Odin. He fought, digging his fingernails into the old man, refusing to lose. Meaty hands seized Loki’s own wrists and forced his palms open. Odin fell from his grasp. The tingling itch retreated.

Loki screeched in rage. No, he’d won, he’d caught the old man fair and square, he was his, his catch. He’d never let Odin sing such terrible songs again, no, he wouldn’t, because Loki had _won!_

He writhed in the grasp of the creature that held him, spitting and fighting, trying to get free enough to see its face -

Thor’s face swam into view out of the cobalt darkness, furious and - frightened.

Loki faltered, eyes darting back and forth between the dim glistens that marked his brother’s.

“What's come over you?” Thor said, uncharacteristically hushed.

 _“I…_ I…” Loki’s mind reeled, confused as to where he was, aware of sudden aches and pains throughout his body. “There…there was something here…it was trying to take him…”

Thor's face was covered in scratches and his hair full of lichen - yet he had to look better than Loki, who could still feel his nose streaming blood, the clumps of mud stuck to his face and the chill of his naked feet in the grass. Even as Loki’s gaze darted about feverishly, Thor’s held steady.

“There’s nothing here but us, Loki. You were the one wrestling Father.”

Odin, as if aware he was being spoken of, began crawling away again.

“ _Stop him!”_ Loki's sudden, powerful attempt to get free nearly took Thor by surprise. _“He’s getting away!”_ he hissed as Thor crushed him against his chest.

Odin had scurried back at the spot where the hole had been. He looked about frantically, grabbing handfuls of sand and tossing it away, digging with his own bare hands, tearing his nails against the hard-packed soil.

Still clutching Loki tight, Thor tried to go to Odin, speaking words that did not penetrate his mania. Odin began to keen, beating his fists against the dirt in despair.

Thor backed away. His grip on Loki loosened, changing from one of restraint to one unconsciously seeking reassurance. The younger brother did not take advantage, only standing next to Thor and swaying slightly, eyes still perplexed and clouded. They stayed that way, frozen, as the first rays of pink light peeked into the clearing.

Eventually, Odin’s howls became sobs and his sobs became whimpering and the whimpering became whispering as he curled up upon the churned earth and drifted into a shuddering sleep.

Even then, neither of Odin’s sons moved.

The pink dawn light warmed to golden, burning away the last of the mist. In the light, Loki finally noticed the wounds on his father's arms. Blackened weals, with lines emanating outward. A distinct shape that took Loki a while to recognize.

Slowly, the tattered prince raised his hands up to his eyes. They were torn and muddied, yet much as he remembered them. A perfect match to Odin’s burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thanks be to [JaggedCliffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaggedCliffs/pseuds/JaggedCliffs) (please check out her work) for Beta-ing. 
> 
> This is a weird chapter. When I was writing, it kinda came out of nowhere, and I found myself with a new character who ended up becoming something very symbolic to the story. A strange sort of ghost who started to haunt the edges of the tale, and eventually changed what I thought this story was going to be about. Ironically, it ended up bringing more life to the proceedings.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience, this chapter was written over a year ago and yet it took this long to loop back for the second draft. It means a lot that people are looking forward to each chapter. As ever, any comment or critique is greatly appreciated.
> 
> EDIT: I also seem to have had some kind of a glitch with this chapter's update, so please let me know if you had any problems with it.


	13. What Did I See?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After chasing Odin through the woods, the Odinsons return to Asgard, more bedraggled and divided than ever.

**THOR**

* * *

The walk back to the beach passed slowly - or seemed to, anyway, as it was still early morning by the time they reached it. Without saying a word, Loki climbed aboard the skiff first. Thor, still carrying Odin, stepped in after. Loki raised his hands to help, but Thor shrugged him off.

“Drive,” he said curtly, sitting at the front of the boat.

Loki, for once, did as he was told.

They skimmed just above the sea, dappled with the rose of sunrise without surrendering the twinkle of reflected stars. The whine of the engine and whip of wind was a welcome alternative to conversation.

Eventually, the gleam of Asgard’s city emerged from around a fjord. It shimmered, impossibly gold and bright in the new day. The palace at its heart cast a long shadow to one side, likely allowing some Asgardians a small respite from the morning. It was as pristine and untouched as ever, as though today were just the same as yesterday.

“Stop the boat,” Thor ordered.

Loki slowly released the throttle, holding the skiff in a hover.

Thor still couldn’t bring himself to look his brother in the eye. “We can’t return like this. The Einherjar would probably shoot us on sight. We are hardly…our usual selves.”

Loki again glanced down at his hands, as he’d done over and over again on their way out of the woods. They were still smeared in mud and covered in small scratches, likely from his mad dash through the foliage. The more obvious problem, at least to Thor’s eye, was the copious amount of blood that crusted the bottom half of his brother's face and a good deal of his chest, dying his usual green livery to a dull red-brown. His lack of shoes was also a sure-to-be-noticed detail. Thor couldn’t even recall the last time he’d been able to verify that his brother possessed toes - but there they were, all ten of them, as scratched and muddied as the rest of him.

It disturbed Thor, far more than his own rumpled appearance. It was one thing for Thor to be scratched, muddied, or wearing torn garments - and something else entirely for the fastidious Loki, who had limped all the way down the mountain without so much as summoning another pair of boots.

“We need _appropriate_ attire,” Thor prodded Loki again.

Loki gave a sudden, quick shake of his head, as if he’d been jolted awake in class. He frowned down at himself and brushed away the larger pieces of bark and mud before dissolving his attire with a flurry of magical sparks. When they cleared, he was wearing an outfit Thor knew he generally reserved for observing ceremonial sporting matches. The last time he'd seen his brother wearing it had been in the summer, at a game of _Knattleikr._ Loki had little cared for such events but enjoyed socializing with visiting diplomats in the Royal Box, offering colourful commentary and subtly seeding ideas into casual conversation that would prove useful for manipulation in later negotiation - that was the real game, for him. He did it all with smiles and laughter, never having to get out of breath.

He’d been nothing like the dazed man that sat before Thor now, seemingly unaware that even this swapped garment was imperfect - creased in odd places, ill-fitting in some undefined way.

Loki glanced nervously at Thor, raising his hands in offering. Thor tightened his mouth into a hard line but nodded. Loki approached and gently tapped Thor’s shoulder. The glamour tingled over his skin, but it was thin enough that he knew he could easily dispel it with a brief flicker of lightning once he returned to his rooms. His armour shone, while what he could see of his own hair was now free of lichen and small twigs. It would still be agony to comb them all out later, he knew - they were only disguised, not removed.

His brother moved to do the same to Odin. Abruptly, Thor stood, sending Loki stumbling backwards. “That's not necessary,” Thor growled.

Loki took several more steps back. He glanced down at Odin’s wrists and back at Thor, opening his mouth as if to say something. Instead, he sat down at the navigation without a word. Awaiting further instruction.

“Your face,” Thor said after a long silence.

Brow wrinkled in confusion, Loki touched his face. Some of his dried blood flaked off. He itched at it, then seemed to flinch at the sight of the red collected under his fingernails. Another glamour spread across his face and hands in a quick flash of golden green.

Loki looked almost himself again. But Thor knew the blood was still there. Every so often, Loki itched at it again. It didn’t seem to occur to his brother that he could have leaned down and scooped up some ocean water to wash it away for real.

Thor turned his attention away from Loki and back towards their father. The old king still hadn’t stirred from his exhaustion. Gently, he plucked at Odin’s sleeves, pulling them down over his burned wrists. He brushed off as much dried mud as he could and tried to straighten his clothes. He couldn’t do anything about the missing eyepatch, though. It was a nest of scar tissue - some from the blade of Laufey, that which had taken his eye, and some that were the remnants of Odin’s eyelids, before the healers had welded them shut.

The times Thor had seen Odin without his eyepatch were fewer than the times he’d seen his father entirely naked - both felt like a disturbing transgression. He liked the idea of the rest of Asgard seeing it even less.

He brushed a little of Odin’s hair over it. It wasn’t that wounds of war were _reviled_ in Asgard - in fact, Odin’s missing eye was something of a national pride. It proved him a king unafraid to put his flesh on the line, along with his soldiers, and so permanently marked. And yet…there was something disturbing about the scarred, eyeless pit. Something vulnerable that the metallic, decorated patch Odin usually wore did not convey.

It was proof that Odin could be harmed, and never truly fixed.

Thor settled Odin back into his arms and told Loki to return them to the docks.

When they arrived, there was already a crowd waiting for them. They clamoured with concern, asking for orders Thor was only too happy to give. An Einherji peeled off to get reinforcements to guard Odin’s room, while another was sent to speak to the head healer, Bronwenna. Other servants he dispatched to gather supplies and to tell concerned lords and ladies that all was well once more - a lie he’d had to tell without Loki, as his brother had seemingly evaporated into the crowd. There was relief in that - Thor wasn’t sure he could’ve taken much more of his silent shadow hanging a little way back, making Thor ask himself questions he didn’t want to know the answers to.

Thor broke free of the crowd with a stride, still bearing his father. He took him to royal chambers himself, arriving several minutes before Bronwenna could. He laid Odin down on his vast mattress, propping him up against the pillows. Still he did not stir, nor so much as snore. It was too easy to see this as a preview of…

Thor looked away, only to see a game of _hnefatafl_ in progress on a small table near a window. He’d never had much of a head for strategy, but he’d been forced to play Loki enough times to recognize one of his typical strategies in progress. He was only a few moves away from taking the king piece hostage and winning. Behind the table was a glass case, where Odin used to keep a wide array of rare spirits. Thor had often sought to purloin one or two in his boyhood rebellions, even though at that age he could scarcely appreciate their quality. Now, however, the bottles were oddly shaped and filled with tinctures and potions, each carefully labelled in Bronwenna’s hand with a time it was meant to be consumed. Thor approached the cabinet and opened it, wondering vaguely if he needed to feed Odin one of them. A piece of parchment fluttered to his feet when he did. It was a chart, clearly marking off what had been consumed and when, as well as a few short notes of observed symptoms and reactions. The spidery writing was not Bronwenna’s, but still familiar to Thor from many long hours spent copying it for schoolwork.

Thor returned it to the cabinet and locked the door again after failing to really decipher much meaning from it. It would be better to wait for the Healers. They’d know what was right.

There was a chair drawn up by the bed. Thor sank into it, realizing too late that it wasn’t empty. He awkwardly pulled out a book whose crimson colour had blended into the chair’s velvet. Thor immediately recognized it - _The Tales of Askeladd._

Thor put it back on the nightstand before drawing his chair closer to Odin’s bed. He gently took his father’s soft hand in his, avoiding the burns on his wrists. The burns in the shape of fingers.

He hadn’t even known that Loki could do that - in both senses of the word. Loki couldn’t summon true fire - only the illusion of it. This very room proved that Loki pursued Odin’s wellbeing.

…Didn’t it?

Loki could be cruel. His grudges were legendary and his paybacks orchestrated over decades (he’d once told Thor that he approached revenge as a five-act play, with potential for sequels). But while Thor had, on occasion, been on the receiving end of petty vengeance, the sort of tricks Loki had played on his own family always lacked much heat - he’d often forgiven Thor for his perceived sleights weeks before Thor could figure out just what he’d ‘done’, if he ever could. Loki’s darkest ire had always been reserved for those outside of themselves.

 _Or so you thought,_ a niggling thought came to Thor. _What he did before your coronation - that had shadow. If he was capable of that, all those years ago, what else has he been doing with you none the wiser? Your friends often tried to convince you of Loki’s ill intent, and you shrugged them off, claiming they didn’t know him as you knew him._

Odin muttered in his sleep, pulling his hand out of Thor’s and rolling away to face the opposite wall. Without really thinking about it, Thor picked up the _Askeladd_ book from the night table and opened it to the bookmark. He started reading, if only for something to do.

Thor knew this story - _The Heartless Troll._ He smiled at that, though he’d never been very interested in anything Askeladd related. Sure, there were giants killed, unicorns captured, princesses rescued and prizes won - but the older brothers, the warriors, always had to fail first before the clever Askeladd could show them up with deception and cunning. It always struck the young Thor that there was something distinctly _unsporting_ about that, and he protested whenever _Askeladd_ was chosen as the evening’s entertainment. Still, it was a fixture of their childhood, and Thor knew its battered cover and intricate illustrations well. How had he not immediately recognized it by the cover?

He flipped the book closed and stared at it. The cover was dark brown leather. The stamped runes that made up the title were so cracked they were nearly illegible, the gold leaf long worn away. There was, however, a faint impression of a bird on it, still stained faintly dark.

Thor didn’t remember their copy having any of that. And this was too old to be a replacement cover.

He returned to the spot marked by the bookmark and skimmed the story. To his surprise, although certain passages were identical to the ones he knew by heart, others were entirely different.

“What on Midgard is a _gjällarhorn?_ ” he wondered aloud. “And what is it doing in this tale?”

As far as Thor was concerned, there was one version of this story and one only. He didn’t much like the idea of another, _incorrect_ version out there, confusing what should be a simple truth.

Thor skipped to the end, determined to see if it ended as it should. It had been one of the few parts he’d enjoyed as a child. All brothers and wives had returned home to their father, who’d prepared a grand feast for them. They’d danced and sung and fought good-naturedly all night long. Surely this version wouldn’t have the conceit to go differently?

_…and so Askeladd returned home. But when he arrived, the doors were closed._

_“Do you not recognize me?” Askeladd called out. “I realize my appearance has much changed. I may look monstrous now, but my voice is still that of Askeladd, eighth son of the king.”_

_“My son had hands, not black wings like yours,” The king replied. “My son was told to stay with me, but you are outside my home.”_

_Askeladd heard the sound of a feast within, of happy shouts and laughter and dancing feet. He recognized voices as belonging to his brothers._

_“Why do you celebrate with your first seven sons, but banish your eighth to the cold?” he accused._

_“My eighth son died saving his brothers. We celebrate his life tonight, and tomorrow we will mourn him and send his body to Valhalla.”_

_“What body? I am here!”_

_“All that was left of my son was his heart, which is here with me,” The King declared. “You clearly have none yourself, to try and deceive a grieving father. Begone!”_

_Askeladd was thrown out of the castle grounds. With nowhere to go, he wandered the wastes, where all monstrous things eventually go. Perhaps this would have broken his heart, if he’d still had it._

Thor stared at that final period, uncomprehending. This was not at all the story he remembered, nor even the formula of the Askeladd stories he’d grown sick of. It was not at all the small comfort he had hoped to find, here at his father’s sickbed.

“My King?” said a woman’s voice, outside the bedroom door.

“Enter,” Thor said quickly, standing and dropping the book to the table as if it were a dog dropping he’d picked up by mistake.

Healer Bronwenna didn’t waste a moment, bustling in like a minor force of nature. She activated the Soul Forge built into Odin’s bed and immediately began to catalogue the damage, tutting and chatting all the while. This disturbed Thor a little, as he’d grown up used to the stern silence of Eir, the previous head healer. Bronwenna had been her apprentice and was younger than Thor by a good amount. Somehow it still seemed unreal that she was now indeed head healer, instead of the shy, spotty girl always clanking about with jars of plant specimens she could conveniently hide behind.

“How did you get these burns, All-Father Odin?” she clucked as she examined his wrists. “They have a very peculiar shape…”

Bronwenna kept talking, but Thor felt the presence of a silence nonetheless. It took him a moment to realize what hadn’t been said. “Healer Bronwenna… we need…desecration. I mean, discretion. About…how this happened.”

Bronwenna nodded absent-mindedly, already behind Thor and opening the cabinets full of medical supplies. “Of course, Your Majesty. That is expected. Lady Eir told me that I’d need a very bad memory to work for royalty.” She winked, so quickly Thor wondered if he’d imagined it. “At least, if anyone ever asked me about anything. Your medical histories are well guarded, of course.”

“Er…yes. I…Odin was burned by…well…” Thor rubbed the back of his neck. “It was…an accident. While trying to catch him. Is it serious?”

Bronwenna pursed her lips. “I’ve certainly seen worse.” She searched her endless pockets and pulled out a jar of ointment and gestured.

Thor took it and began slathering it on Odin’s wound liberally but gently. He’d done it many times before, although never for his own father. Burns were common in war. Thor’s back had had a particularly nasty one courtesy of Muspelheim, and Captain Siegfried had lost a finger in Jotunheim to a freezing burn.

Odin’s flesh hissed and spat as the poultice rushed through its work. The old man flinched, but the wound healed in the time it took for him to do so. Bronwenna saw to his bruises next, with a poultice that faded them until they were indistinguishable from the numerous liver spots.

The wound on his forehead was the first mark that seemed to give her pause. She examined it carefully. “When did he get this?”

“Same time as the other wounds,” Thor said. “Just this night."

“…No. I don’t think so.” Bronwenna brushed at the seeping scab, lending it a little of her trademark blue magic. “This is at least a day old. And whatever did it was powerfully magical in nature. I cannot easily close this.”

Thor’s eyes flashed in consternation. “He was hurt before this night? How?” He thought back to the Vault. Had something fallen on Odin’s head? But…no, that had only been a little before the night, not a full day as Bronwenna claimed. Although Thor could not recall any marks on Odin at all in that battle.

Lost in thought, Thor dragged his fingers through his hair, catching bits of detritus and a small twig that had gotten caught there during his pursuit of Loki. He looked directly at them in his palm but saw nothing but clean skin. He dropped them to the floor. They reappeared on impact with a ripple of green magic. Dirt, lichen. Bits of bark. He was still a proper mess. Yet when he looked across the room into his mother’s mirror, he saw himself as well-groomed as he’d ever managed.

Just as Loki had intended.

“Do you know if he missed any of his potions?” Bronwenna asked, finishing a series of magical stitches on Odin’s head. “It’s very important he get them at specific times. The log for the past day is blank. That isn’t like your brother, to forget to record these things.”

“I…I’m not sure. It’s been a…hectic time,” Thor said distractedly.

_I can’t be thinking what I’m thinking._

_I can’t have seen what I saw._

_It just can’t be like that._

“What time will your brother be by, All-Father? I can start him off as usual for today, but if he did miss a day of potions I’ll need to adjust the amounts.”

Thor brushed his thumb under the wound on Odin’s head. The stitches were fighting to close the gap, but something malevolent lurked beneath the flesh, resisting their pull towards healing.

“Loki will…not be coming today. Nor tomorrow. Or…for the next while.” Thor heard the words as if spoken by someone else. “I will be attending my father.”

Bronwenna had never been as good as Eir at hiding her emotions. Her stare was like that of a thunderstruck fawn.

“Oh, I see, I see. He has been stretched rather thin, lately. That’s very good of you, Your Majesty. Especially with a war newly started and everything.”

“I’ve had lots of wars. I’ll only ever have one father,” Thor huffed.

“You’ve also only got one body, and not much sleep in it,” Bronwenna noted shrewdly. “I can care for All-Father Odin for now. It might be best if you recovered before attending him this evening…?”

Odin still looked so pale. So fragile. So alone. How could Thor abandon him, so soon after finding him again?

Though it was true that there was little he could do for his father here. He’d only be getting in Bronwenna’s way. There were other things he could do to protect Odin. Had to do.

He thanked Bronwenna again and departed, but not for his bed.

It was a long walk out to the Bifröst Observatory.

Heimdall was waiting patiently, up on the dias with his hands resting on Hofundr.

Thor didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. “Did you see what happened in the woods last night?”

Heimdall’s ever-even orange gaze fixed itself at some point far behind Thor, as the Gatekeeper had a disconcerting habit of doing. “When I realized something was amiss, I turned my gaze upon Odin. I found him only a little before you did.”

Thor’s temper had always had a short fuse, but lack of sleep had snipped even that in half. “When you realized something was amiss? How did it take so long for you to realize - were you not _watching_ Odin?”

“The Royal Apartments and Chambers are protected from my gaze unless I am given express permission to observe,” Heimdall intoned. “I had no such permission last night. Nor was I asked or informed of events."

Thor wanted to growl in frustration. Privacy had trumped security. Both in terms of banning Heimdall’s gaze and Loki’s infuriating desire to keep things ‘quiet’ and not even ask for the Gatekeeper’s help.

“When did you realize something was _amiss?”_

“I could not see something.”

“What couldn’t you see?”

Heimdall frowned, so slightly that it scarcely creased his brow. “I do not know.”

 _Great. Very helpful._ _It seems ‘All-Seeing Eyes’ may require an asterisk._ “Could you see Loki?”

“No. He usually hides from my sight. Last night was no different.”

“Was he the thing you couldn’t see?”

“…When Loki slips my watch, I notice nothing. Last night I noticed… _a_ nothing.”

Confused, but also a little intrigued, Thor inquired “Is it a threat to Asgard?”

“I do not know. I am not even sure if it is of Asgard or…elsewhere. It is currently gone - or rather, not gone. It may not even properly exist.”

 _Then it is not currently one of my pressing problems._ Thor quickly returned to his previous track. “But you did see my father?”

Heimdall nodded. “I did. Eventually. I am sorry I could not have been of use sooner.”

Thor couldn’t take anymore of that relentless, endless stare. He looked off the bridge, into the sky’s battered reflection on the water below. “Did you…see what happened to him? I…when I came upon him…I’m not sure what I saw.”

Heimdall delayed speaking for a long time. Longer, even, then he usually did.

“…I do not believe that Loki meant to hurt your father,” he said at last.

Thor’s blood chilled. “He didn’t mean to…but he did. Didn’t he?”

Heimdall held another long pause. “Yes.”

Thor cupped his hand over his eyes.

“I believe he meant only to restrain your father - to prevent him from injuring himself,” Heimdall continued.

 _How twisted things must be if Heimdall is trying to defend the actions of Loki…_ Thor resisted a smile. It would have been a twisted smile, too.

“Have you…ever seen my brother harm Father before? Whether he meant to or not?”

Heimdall bowed his head. “Harm is a broad term, Your Grace. When Odin is…unreasonable, he takes offence easily. His feelings have been harmed in such times, but he soon forgets it. Sometimes he injures himself, or attempts to fight your brother in the midst of some delusion -“

“I would not believe it of you, Gatekeeper, but you are reminding me rather too much of Loki. It is he who attempts to dodge a simple question by making it complex.” Thor met Heimdall’s eyes again, this time with a sharp stare of his own. “Did Loki harm my father a day previous to last night’s encounter?”

Heimdall met Thor’s stare without losing an ounce of his trademark serenity. “I cannot say.”

It was not like Heimdall to lie. Legend had it that he was incapable of it. And yet Thor sensed that at the very least the Gatekeeper was holding something back.

There was only one person he would do that for. And it was certainly not Loki.

Thor squared himself directly in front of Heimdall. “What did my father ask of you?”

The Gatekeeper pulled Hofundr from the dias and walked down the steps until he stood on the floor next to Thor.

“…I did see your father. Yesterday morning. We spoke in confidence. I cannot tell you the subject of our discussion, but I can tell you what we did not speak of. He said nothing of any harm caused by Loki upon his person, and nor do I think Loki is a threat to his father.”

Thor replayed Heimdall’s words in his head. It seemed straightforward, and yet there were still assumptions in there that Heimdall meant for him to make. “Do you think it is safe to have Loki near my father at this time?”

Heimdall opened his mouth and closed it again.

Thor raised his brows. It was unusual for so confident a Gatekeeper to change his mind about what to let in and out.

“…No,” Heimdall said at last. “It would be best if he were kept from Odin for now. For his own sake.”

Thor wished he was better at reading people, though Heimdall was legendarily obtuse to even the most gifted empath. Still, even so, Thor wondered if he sensed a pained note to Heimdall’s words. Or perhaps that was simply his own ears, his own feelings projected upon Heimdall’s famous neutrality.

“I will…inform the guards. I will say that Loki is not to be let into Odin’s rooms for his own good. My brother is on official vacation and cannot be allowed to do any work until he…recovers.”

Heimdall said nothing. He neither approved nor disapproved. As ever, he simply was.

Thor turned to leave. He wondered, a little loonily, if he could still fly, feeling as heavy as he did.

“Your son Magni is looking for you,” Heimdall told his back. “General Tyr and Councillors Snotra and Honir and are also seeking your audience. ”

Thor sighed and cracked a weary smile. “And my bed? Does it miss me as much as I miss it?”

But he was not really thinking of his bed’s feelings. He looked back at Heimdall, and in a different tone of voice asked “Is she…alright? I…I don’t want to spy. But just…is she alright? And the children?”

Heimdall had retaken his position on the dais. “Yes. She is in good spirits. The children are learning to ski with Lady Skadi today. It is a beautiful day in Alfheim.”

Thor opened his mouth, about to ask for more details. It hung open for a long moment, his tongue drying in the air. Then he took Mjölnir from his belt and threw her into the sky, dragging the rest of him behind.

**The RAVEN**

* * *

When Huginn returned to Odin’s chambers, it was in one of the few moments that no healers were about. He fluttered to Odin’s side to inspect the cut on his head. It was still rather nasty.

Huginn covered it with his wingtip. _“Sorry to Odin.”_

Of course, apologies could not undo what he had done. There was no way to take back the past.

Though there was a way to take some of the pain.

Huginn’s wingtip began to glow.

He drew it back, pulling out a worm of twisting gold. Without hesitation, he put it to his beak and swallowed.

_The room melted away, replaced with one far colder, though a fire burned in the centre. He heard, with Odin’s ears, the screeches of a hysterical raven._

_“HUGINN! ENOUGH!” he called with Odin’s mouth, full of its weird, pebbly teeth, though Odin didn’t really notice that._

_On Odin's shoulder, the frantically shifting weight of his raven settled. It seemed like Huginn had listened._

_Then - Pain. Sudden, visceral, in the centre of his forehead. Wetness streaming down past his eye. A fierce cawing, black feathers torn loose from fierce wingbeats, a shout -_

Huginn shuddered. It hurt. It had hurt so much.

But it was not Odin’s pain anymore.

Huginn had taken it away from Odin. Huginn would keep it safe.

Voices outside the room. Discussions of treatment. Mentions of food.

Huginn listened intently, hoping to hear ‘corn’. Regrettably, only broth was ordered.

Just as well. He still had work to do. From what he’d heard, Loki would not be returning to this room.

He seized the book from the nightstand, dimpling the leather with his talons. With two strong wing beats, he’d taken it into the air with him, outside the window and into the sky once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for my long abscence. Things have happened. Oddly ironic things. I started writing this as a way to deal with my feelings for my grandparents, who passed away last year and the year before that. I write this now one day after my own mother has passed, a few short weeks after she was diagnosed with Stage IV cancer. My father, two weeks after hearing the news and becoming distraught, had an accident and struck his head. He is now brain damaged and still in hospital. Now, my brother and I are working together to pick up the pieces. 
> 
> The coincidence has not escaped me. 
> 
> I wrote this chapter a long time ago, almost two years now, and edited it weeks before it all went down. I pulled it out and finished final edits with the help of the ever-awesome [JaggedCliffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaggedCliffs/pseuds/JaggedCliffs) just now. 
> 
> I'd written a lot more after this. I think I will still continue to drop the chapters, although the direction this was meant to go (and has been written to go) feels like it might have to be altered in light of my circumstances. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please, don't feel the need to comfort me or say your condolences - honestly I'd be more interested in your thoughts on this chapter. But feel free to share your own experiences of grief here, whether they happened in this apocalyptic year or a long time ago. 
> 
> Love to you all.


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